GIFT  or 
PROFESSOR    C.  A.  KDFOIDl 


DAYS   OF   DISCOVERY 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet-Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/daysofdiscoveryOOsmitrich 


DAYS  OF  DISCOVERY 


BY 


BERTRAM    SMITH 

AUTHOR  OF   "  THK  WHOLE  ART  OF   CARAVANNING,"   ETC. 


LONDON 

CONSTABLE    ^    COMPANY    LTD. 
1917 


^^ 


^^" 


^v 


GIFT  Ql 

PROFESSOR    C.A.  KOFOID 

With  few  exceptions  the  contents 
of  this  book  have  appeared  in  the 
pages  of  The  Manchester  Guardian, 
Those  entitled  "  Pains  and  Penal- 
ties/' "  Making  Money,"  «  Oppro- 
brious Epithets,"  and  "A  Dinner 
Party"  came  out  in  the  Saturday 
Review y  while  "  The  Mystic  Gulf" 
is  from  the  Spectator.  My  thanks 
arc  due  to  the  Editors  of  these 
three  Journals  for  permission  to 
republish.  ^ 


CONTENTS 


I. 

The  Barbarian 

PAGB 
9 

II. 

Offensive  Weapons 

17 

III. 

Opprobrious  Epithets 

24 

IV. 

Revenge      .         .         .         . 

31 

V. 

The  Mystic  Gulf 

38 

VI. 

The  Ordeal 

46 

VII. 

A  Dinner  Party 

51 

VIII. 

Discovery 

59 

IX. 

The  Phases  of  Olinda 

es 

X. 

The  Firework  Season 

74 

XI. 

Secrets 

80 

XII. 

Variations  on  a  Theme 

86 

XIII. 

Making  Money 

93 

XIV. 

The  Hotel 

.     100 

XV. 

Sent  on  Application 

.     107 

XVI. 

The  Uses  of  the  Dummy 

.     115 

XVII. 

White  Weather 

.     122 

XVIII. 

Frost 

.     130 

XIX. 

The  Gale 

7 

.     137 

IV1217009 


8 

Contents 

XX. 

Devices  and  Contrivances 

PAGE 

XXI. 

When  the  Burglars  came 

151 

XXII. 

Pains  and  Penalties 

.         158 

XXIII. 

The  Beast  in  the  Hedge 

i6s 

XXIV. 

The  Coming  of  Courtesy 

172 

XXV. 

In  the  Train           .... 

180 

XXVI. 

About  Being  in  the  Middle        "     . 

187 

XXVII. 

Secret  Habitations 

19s 

XXVIII. 

Scoring  Off              .... 

.    202 

XXIX. 

A  Strange  Tongue 

.     208 

XXX. 

What  to  Be              .... 

.    216 

Days  of  Discovery 


JHE  BARBARIAN 

Though  civilization  and  convention  may  rule 
the  rest  of  the  household  with  an  iron  hand, 
their  sway  stops  short  upon  the  threshold  of  the 
nursery,  for  the  upbringing  and  development  of 
a  small  boy  are  comparable  to  the  progress  of 
the  race  from  the  chaos  of  dark  ages  to  the 
ordered  existence  of  to-day.  In  the  long  run 
he  must  adapt  himself  to  the  conditions  that 
obtain,  he  must  leave  behind  his  war-paint  and 
the  primitive  habits  and  customs  of  his  tribe 
and  clothe  himself  and  learn  to  behave  ;  and  the 
day  comes  when  he  must  begin  to  calculate,  to 
consider  and  to  look  ahead.  But  for  the  years 
when  he  is  still  able  to  hold  his  own  against  the 
forces  that  are  to  shape  his  course  he  has  many 
things   in  common  with   certain  kindred   souls 

9 

I  ^ 


'J p : ;'  •.  • .-       :  Diiy:  of  Discovery 

in  virgin  forest  where  the  white  man  is  unknown. 
Such  are  his  attitude  towards  the  Ordeal  of 
Battle,  which  he  accepts  as  fitting  and  straight- 
forward— his  willing  agreement  with  the  prin- 
ciple that  might  is  right ;  his  faculty  not  indeed 
for  worshipping  but  at  least  for  endowing  with 
human  attributes  all  manner  of  inanimate  ob- 
jects— ships,  locomotives  and  the  Hke.  I  well 
remember  a  time  when  an  Atlantic  liner  was 
quite  as  much  alive  to  me  as  an  elephant  and 
had  a  much  more  striking  personality.  How 
could  one  read  the  thoughts  or  imagine  the 
sensations  of  an  elephant  ?  But  one  knew  very 
well  what  a  ship  felt  like  as  she  moved  among 
the  lesser  craft  with  a  slow  and  easy  swagger  up 
the  tideway  or  dragged  tired  limbs  to  dock  after 
a  stormy  crossing. 

I  am  told — I  had  myself  forgotten  it ;  it  is 
the  sort  of  thing  one  does  forget — that  I  was 
presented  at  an  early  age  to  a  fellow-pupil  for 
the  first  time.  We  shook  hands,  under  pressure, 
and  as  soon  as  we  were  left  alone,  "  I'm  bigger 
than  you,"  said  I.  "  Yes,"  said  he,  "  but  I  can 
knock  you  down " — which  he  did.  That  is 
essentially  a  prehistoric  form  of  introduction. 
We  could  not  have  been  expected  to  settle  down 


The  ^arbariaji  1 1 

to  any  friendly  relation  until  it  had  been  de- 
monstrated which  of  us  was  the  better  man. 

Many  other  savage  customs  flourish  in  the 
nursery — slavery  most  obviously,  unless  it  be  put 
down  by  a  superior  power.  Strangest  of  all  is 
that  callous  and  barbaric  cruelty  which  seems  to 
crop  up  sporadically  in  boys  by  no  means  heart- 
less or  unfeeling.  Once  let  him  get  his  enemy  in 
his  power  and  a  boy  vdll  often  distress  Those  in 
Authority  and  even  amaze  himself,  when  he 
comes  to  reflect  upon  it,  by  an  action  of  instinc- 
tive brutality.  Archie,  my  younger  brother,  had 
been  climbing  for  a  missel-thrush's  nest  in  the 
old  holm  oak  on  the  lawn  and  had  slipped  and 
fallen  off  a  branch  and  come  to  rest  head  down- 
wards in  an  evil  predicament.  I  had  answered 
his  breathless  yell  for  assistance.  "  Get  hold  of 
my  legs,"  shouted  Archie.  I  surveyed  him  for  a 
moment  and  then  (flying  in  the  very  face  of  our 
common  humanity),  "  Will  you  lend  me  your 
paint-box  ?  "  I  demanded  calmly.  "  Be  quick  !  " 
panted  Archie.  "  Will  you  lend  me  your  paint- 
box ?  "  said  I.  I  do  not  know  what  would  have 
been  the  end  of  it,  for  Archie  was  getting  very 
red  in  the  face,  had  not  one  of  Those  in  Authority 
also  heard  the  call  for  help.    One  might  almost 


1 2  Days  of  Discovery 

contemplate  with  despair  this  little  monster  who 
was  capable,  in  the  presence  of  helplessness  and 
urgent  need,  of  quietly  taking  his  stand  with  his 
hands  in  his  pockets  and  propounding  his  unholy 
bargain.  But  the  paint-box  was  at  the  time  a 
sore  point  between  us  and  why  should  I  give 
away  chances  ?  Had  the  bargain  been  completed, 
the  paint-box  lent  and  the  sufferer  rescued  I 
don't  think  the  incident  would  have  disturbed 
the  friendly  relations  between  the  contracting 
parties.  Archie  was  fairly  had  :  he  must  have 
seen  that. 

The  boy  maintains  the  same  primitive  and 
barbaric  attitude  in  his  deahngs  with  the  Goddess 
of  Fortune,  his  traffic  with  luck  and  chances. 
Luck  is  a  vital  element  in  his  life  :  he  is  sur- 
rounded by  unseen  forces,  ordering  and  control- 
ling the  events  of  every  day.  It  is  an  unshaken 
faith  in  his  luck  that  supplies  the  motive  power 
in  half  his  escapades.  Whether  he  be  trying  to 
capture  blackbirds  with  Old  John  Gardener's 
riddle  and  a  string,  or  fishing  for  tadpoles  in  the 
pit,  or  dodging  callers,  or  hoping  he  is  not  late 
for  tea — it  is  his  luck  that  counts.  There  is  a 
special  virtue  in  it.  One  of  his  purest  delights  is 
in  finding  things — not,  of  course,  things  that  he 


The  Barbarian  13 


has  lost  but  things  that  have  been  lost  by  other 
people.  In  this  he  will  display  great  patience 
and  ingenuity  ;  and  a  knife  encountered  in  the 
street,  a  pencil,  or  best  of  all  a  coin,  has  for  him  a 
special  significance  far  beyond  its  face  value.  He 
will  treasure  it  with  splendid  exultation,  proud 
beyond  words  of  his  luck. 

He  dearly  loves  taking  chances.  In  his  fine 
craving  for  the  whole  flavour  and  intensity  of 
existence  he  must  have  his  fill  of  surprises,  of 
startling  incidents,  of  risks.  But  he  does  not 
gamble,  as  do  those  of  riper  years,  in  any  hope 
of  gain ;  generally  speaking  he  has  everything  to 
lose.  Rather  is  his  the  attitude  of  the  savage 
who  will  stake  his  head  upon  a  wager.  In  truth 
he  is  often  nearer  to  staking  his  head  than  he 
reaHzes  and  many  of  us  can  look  back  upon  dizzy 
and  insensate  adventures  undertaken  for  no  better 
reason  than  that  we  were  "  dared  to  do  it."  There 
was  a  rotten  old  line  of  trellis  surmounting  a  high 
wall  and  accessible  from  the  bathroom  window, 
where  in  days  of  long  ago  valuable  lives  might 
more  than  once  have  been  lost  in  no  better  cause 
than  this.  Any  precarious  pathway,  any  break- 
neck climb,  any  dangerous  and  forbidden  neigh- 
bourhood was  in  itself  an  invitation  to  adventure. 


1 4  Days  of  Discovery 

But  the  risk  to  life  and  limb  was  not  the  only 
fruit  of  this  one-sided  gambling  spirit.  One  had 
a  passion  for  the  Ordeal  in  divers  forms.  One 
was  continually  subjecting  oneself  to  meaningless 
tests,  pitting  oneself  against  all  manner  of  in- 
visible antagonists.  One  would  throw  one's  whole 
soul  into  the  endeavour  to  peel  off  a  stocking  while 
standing  on  one  leg.  One  would  freely  bind 
oneself  not  to  open  one's  eyes  in  the  morning 
till  one  had  groped  one's  way  to  the  bathroom. 
And  if  success  crowned  these  earnest  perform- 
ances one  was  not  without  a  solid  sense  of 
achievement,  whereas  if  they  failed  it  meant  bad 
luck. 

Perhaps  these  eccentricities  carried  us  further 
than  is  usual,  for  ours  was  a  nursery  full  of  boys 
and  my  little  sister  alone  represented  the  temper- 
ing influence  of  a  wiser,  saner  sex.  But  it  was 
ever  thus.  Luck  played  a  part  in  every  trans- 
action. Nothing  could  be  well  decided  without 
tossing  up  or  drawing  lots.  And  for  myself  I 
loved  to  consult  by  occult  means  a  vague  and 
arbitrary  oracle.  I  would  tell  myself  that  if  the 
number  of  flies  upon  the  ceiling  was  divisible  by 
seven  we  should  have  a  fine  day  for  our  picnic  ; 
if  I  could  hit  a  certain  tree  with  a  certain  stone  I 


The  Barbarian  15 


might  not  after  all  be  kept  in  for  neglected  sums ; 
if  the  first  man  I  met  had  on  brown  boots  I 
should  be  in  time  for  my  train.  Indeed  I  must 
have  lived  in  a  v^orld  of  dark  and  pagan  super- 
stition of  my  ov^n  creation  ;  and  at  the  same 
time  I  maintained  a  swaggering  attitude,  towards 
the  stock  superstitions,  of  adamant  superiority 
and  smiling  scorn.  I  looked  down  with  amaze- 
ment and  despair  upon  the  intellectual  level  of 
the  old  woman  in  the  ice-cream  shop  who  drew 
down  the  blind  lest  she  see  the  first  of  the  new 
moon  through  glass.  I  regarded  it  as  a  duty,  a 
special  mission  to  fly  in  the  face  of  all  such  im- 
pious beliefs.  I  would  spill  salt  with  much 
bravado,  cross  knives  ostentatiously,  to  the  horror 
of  the  under-nurse.  I  would  go  far  out  of  my 
way,  insolently  whistling,  to  walk  beneath  a 
ladder  ;  and  if  I  could  count  thirteen  at  table 
gleefully  proclaimed  the  fact  and  had  no  mercy 
on  the  fearful. 

Seventeen  was  ever  my  lucky  number  :  I  think 
it  still  is.  In  a  multitude  of  ways  I  drew  from  it 
comfort  and  support.  Were  I  loth  to  get  out  of 
bed  I  would  search  the  room  for  seventeen  units 
that  would  bring  the  needed  stimulus.  Seven- 
teen rings  on  a  curtain  or  books  on  a  shelf  would 


1 6  Days  of  Discovery 

do.  And  I  would  start  the  day  the  better  for 
them.  Many  of  the  decisive  actions  of  my  life 
were  timed  to  the  seventeenth  tick  of  a  clock, 
the  seventeenth  swing  of  a  hammock  or  quack  of 
a  duck.  .  .  . 

I  am  afraid  you  may  have  found  me  out.  It 
is  true  that  the  small  boy  whose  doings,  fancies 
and  confessions  fill  these  pages  was  at  no  time  an 
attractive  child.  But  for  my  part  I  sympathize 
with  him  still  and  when  I  look  back  across  the 
great  Dividing  Line  to  the  glowing,  teeming 
world  in  which  he  lived,  I  am  well  content  to 
know  that  he  made  the  most  of  it  and  need  not 
now  reproach  himself  with  wasted  opportunities. 


II 

OFFENSIVE  WEAPONS 

Each  had  its  use — the  Bow  and  Arrow,  the  Cata- 
pult, the  Pea  Shooter,  the  Squirt — and  each  its 
period  of  exclusive  popularity. 

The  Catapult  perhaps  hardly  deserves  to  be 
regarded  as  an  effective  member  of  the  group. 
We  approached  it  with  awe  and  looked  forward  to 
it  v^th  hope,  as  being  rather  the  proper  weapon 
of  the  schoolboy.  To  us  it  was  more  a  magnifi- 
cent possession,  a  treasure,  than  a  practical  im- 
plement— a  thing  to  husband  closely  in  the  pocket, 
where  the  hand  at  any  moment  might  grip  it 
lovingly,  to  be  taken  out  on  fitting  occasions  and 
flicked  nonchalantly  about  by  way  of  showing 
off  :  whose  handle  could  be  bound  and  rebound 
at  short  intervals  v^th  whipcord,  whose  elasticity 
was  subject  of  frequent  test  and  trial.  One  would 
have  been  very  sorry  to  have  been  without  a 
catapult,  but  if  the  whole  truth  must  be  divulged 
one  was  more  than  a  little  chary  of  actually 

B  17 


1 8  Days  of  Discovery 

letting  it  off.     One  had  hit  one's  thumb  more 
than  once  at  that  game. 

The  Bow  and  Arrow  had  a  considerable  vogue. 
We  were  all  Robin  Hoods  then.  Very  soon  we 
threw  over  the  accepted  types,  which  could  be 
bought  in  shops,  as  lacking  true  romance.  A  bow 
was  one  of  the  many  things  (like  walking-sticks, 
stilts  and,  of  course,  catapults)  that  no  shop- 
keeper had  ever  understood.  We  cut  our  own — 
of  trusty  yew.  Nor  had  we  any  opinion  at  all  of 
smooth,  sleek,  be-feathered  arrows.  We  must 
make  our  own — always  with  the  aid  of  Old  John 
Gardener — securely  tipped  with  lead,  and  labori- 
ously scrubbed  with  sandpaper.  We  would 
rejoice  greatly — as  would  not  have  been  possible 
in  the  case  of  a  mere  shop  arrow — in  the  exploit 
of  the  champion  shaft  of  the  hour,  till  such  time 
as  he  was  lost  to  us  in  some  prodigious  flight. 
Yet  we  never  had  the  fullest  satisfaction  from 
bows  and  arrows,  for  they  were  subject  to  con- 
fining regulation  and  restriction.  Ever  since  the 
day  when  Archie  (who  was  only  trying  the  effect 
of  a  new  bow-string  in  the  nursery)  let  fly  an 
arrow  inadvertently  across  the  room,  narrowly 
escaping  homicide  and  transfixing  the  picture  of 
General  Gordon  which  hung  upon  the  wall : — 


Offensive  Weapons  19 

ever  since  that  unlucky  day  bows  and  arrows  were 
accounted  too  dangerous  for  promiscuous  use. 
They  had  their  allotted  seasons,  their  fixed  occa- 
sions, even  their  prescribed  lines  of  flight.  There 
was,  in  a  word,  altogether  too  much  red  tape 
about  the  Bow  and  Arrow. 

In  striking  contrast  was  the  position  of  the 
Pea  Shooter,  which  was  essentially  without  a 
trace  of  official  recognition.  It  was  never  allowed 
to  become  conspicuous  enough  to  be  subject  to 
any  such  hampering  restrictions.  It  was  the 
weapon  of  stealth,  the  weapon  of  the  sharp- 
shooter taking  "  pot-shots  "  (which  was  the  term 
then  in  vogue)  from  a  point  of  safe  seclusion.  It 
was  responsible  for  a  vast  amount  of  fine  guerilla 
warfare.  Its  office  was  to  "  pepper  "  and  annoy  : 
to  plant  a  well-directed  pea  in  the  heart  of  a 
group  of  callers  from  the  hidden  branches  of  a 
neighbouring  tree  :  or  rake  the  serried  ranks  of 
the  girls'  school  next  door  when  they  walked  out 
to  take  the  air.  Naturally  it  was  subject  to  fre- 
quent confiscation.  But  a  new  one  was  not  far  to 
seek.  It  could  be  cut  at  any  time  from  the  elder- 
berry bush  in  the  shrubbery  ;  the  pith  ejected 
with  a  knitting  needle ;  the  finished  weapon  dried 
and  seasoned  and  ready  for  work  within  the  day, 


20  Days  of  Discovery 

But,  while  I  would  not  for  a  moment  be  un- 
grateful to  the  memory  of  these  others,  it  was 
the  Squirt  that  really  counted.  For  all  offensive 
tactics  a  jet  of  water  is  incomparably  better  than 
a  pea,  in  the  thrilling  act  of  nervous  pressure 
with  which  it  is  driven  forth,  softly  hissing  on 
its  way,  in  a  certain  unfailing  humour,  not  easy 
to  explain,  which  belongs  to  it,  and  in  the  fact 
that  it  leaves  its  mark  behind  and  the  victim 
cannot  deny  that  he  was  struck.  Oh,  yes,  squirts 
were  the  great  stand-by.  They  were  seldom 
altogether  idle  for  a  day,  for  one  carried  one's 
squirt  quite  as  a  matter  of  course  as  a  man  may 
carry  a  penknife  or  a  watch.  And  indeed  a  squirt 
of  the  true  orthodox  type  (for  this  was  one  of 
the  things  that  the  shops  did  understand)  with  its 
long,  cylindrical  barrel  and  sharply  tapered  nose 
of  smooth,  unbattered  lead  is  truly  a  delightful 
object.  Even  the  garden  syringe,  although  far 
more  tremendous  in  its  effects  (and  additionally 
desirable  because  it  was  prohibited)  could  not 
seriously  compete  with  the  massive  and  effective 
tenpenny  squirt  or  even  with  the  slender  little 
threepenny  model,  so  handy  for  quiet  and  un- 
obtrusive attack. 

The  Squirt,  in  addition  to  a  thousand  other 


Offensive  Weapons  2i 

obvious  activities,  was  the  chosen  weapon  of  the 
Duel.  Behold  the  two  combatants  face  to  face, 
at  a  distance  of  perhaps  four  feet,  each  kneeling 
in  front  of  his  basin  of  water,  each  closely  en- 
wrapped in  a  mackintosh,  each  delivering  at  the 
word  of  command  from  the  referee  destructive 
streams  at  his  opponent's  features.  It  was  often 
hard  to  judge,  when  the  ammunition  was  ex- 
hausted, who  had  proved  the  victor.  Both  had 
shared  in  the  sheer  intoxication  of  the  fray. 
Both  were  blinded,  saturated  and  bedraggled, 
and  one  need  ask  no  more  than  that. 

And  one  day  a  wicked  whisper  came  to  me — 
the  outcome  of  that  restless  desire  with  which 
we  were  so  often  possessed  to  try  to  improve  upon 
a  good  thing.  Must  it  he  water  ?  Why  should  it 
be  water  ?  It  was  to  that  diabolical  suggestion 
that  I  owe  the  treasured  memory  of  an  evening 
on  which  I  really  tasted  power.  Open  rebellion  was 
not  new  to  me,  nor  occasions  of  reckless  defiance. 
One  had  defied  authority  by  running  away. 
But  to  defy  authority  in  hand-to-hand  conflict ! 
— it  was  by  all  odds  a  grander  moment.  Our  true 
parents  and  guardians  were  away  from  home  and 
an  uncle  and  aunt  were  in  charge  on  the  evening 
when  I  suddenly  stampeded,  threw  off  all  restraint 


22  Days  of  Discovery 

and  with  my  new  Tenpenny  charged  with  ink 
boldly  faced  the  world.  Seated  astride  the  high 
end  of  the  sofa  with  my  back  to  the  wall  I  blankly 
refused  to  go  to  bed,  meeting  all  advances  with 
the  blackened  end  of  my  lethal  weapon — "  An- 
other step  and  I  fire  !  "  Gradually  it  dawned 
upon  me  what  an  overwhelmingly  strong  position 
was  mine,  quite  as  good  in  its  way  as  any  anarchist 
who  turns  at  bay  with  a  revolver.  By  the  ex- 
penditure of  a  few  drops — which  left  their  mark 
in  a  dotted  line  upon  the  carpet  for  years  to 
come — I  made  it  clear  to  all  that  I  meant  what 
I  said.  And  they  cowered  before  me  and  drew 
back.  It  was  one  of  those  occasions  when  "  they 
could  do  nothing  with  me."  The  uncle  and 
aunt  must  be  sent  for  ;  and  it  was  a  most  for- 
tunate circumstance  that  they  were  on  the  point 
of  going  out  to  dine  and  therefore  quite  excep- 
tionally vulnerable  to  a  point-blank  jet  of  ink. 
My  blood  was  up  :  words  were  of  no  avail.  No, 
I  was  not  going  to  bed,  as  a  matter  of  fact  I  was 
not  going  to  bed  for  hours,  I  was  simply  going  to 

sit  where  I  was.     And  one  step  forward . 

Thus  I  held  them  through  some  heady  minutes 
of  dizzy  triumph,  while  my  allies  looked  on 
admiring,  almost  worshipping.     I  was  about  to 


Offensive  Weapons  23 

formulate  further  terms  when  the  fray  ended, 
prematurely  as  it  seemed  to  me,  in  a  sudden  rush, 
behind  cover  of  an  umbrella  in  which  I  was 
borne  down,  captured  and  disarmed. 

But  my  weapon  was  empty  ere  I  relinquished 
it.    I  had  left  my  mark. 


Ill 

OPPROBRIOUS  EPITHETS 

It  was  in  the  early  age  of  more  active  and  vigorous 
rebellion,  before  one  had  begun  to  see  the  ad- 
vantages of  bowing  to  the  storm,  and  trying  to 
reach  one's  ends  by  subtler  means,  that  sheer 
terms  of  abuse  bulked  largely  in  our  vocabulary. 
In  truth  I  think  we  must  have  been  a  desperate 
team  to  drive.  When  I  remember  the  ever- 
present  resentment  with  which  we  regarded  all 
necessary  instructions,  and  still  more  the  lurid 
terms  in  which  it  was  expressed,  I  am  inclined  to 
marvel  at  the  whole-hearted  and  thorough-going 
methods  of  the  barbarous  age  of  boyhood.  The 
under-nurse  of  the  moment  was  one's  prime  ad- 
versary. Only  at  times  of  overpowering  exas- 
peration did  one  turn  upon  the  head  nurse,  and 
one  was  apt  to  regret  it  afterwards,  for  she  had 
"  a  way  with  her  "  that  somehow  lifted  her  above 
the  level  of  attack.  But  each  new  under-nurse 
must   be  made  to  feel  at  the  outset  that  you 

24 


opprobrious  Epithets  25 

would  go  to  bed  when  it  suited  your  convenience 
and  not  before,  that  you  would  come  out  of  your 
bath  when  in  your  opinion  the  proper  moment 
had  arrived,  and  your  exit  would  not  be  hastened 
by  any  new  method  she  might  adopt  of  holding 
an  expectant  towel.  She  would  drive  you  forth 
of  course  after  a  time — having  first  of  all  counted 
twenty,  then  fifty,  and  then  a  hundred  without 
result — by  application  of  the  cold  tap  ;  but  then 
you  told  her  what  you  thought  of  her. 

Swearing  was  known  to  be  one  of  the  most 
deadly  sins,  and  therefore  held  in  awe.  That 
was  forbidden  ground  on  which  one  would  never 
dare  to  trespass.  But  a  difficulty  was  continually 
arising  as  to  the  definition  of  what  was  swearing. 
It  was  a  subject  frequently  and  earnestly  debated, 
especially  when  a  splendid  new  word  or  expres- 
sion had  become  our  common  property.  Was  it 
swearing  ?  The  trouble  was  that  it  was  no  use 
going  for  information  to  Grown-up  Persons,  who 
alone  would  be  likely  to  know,  for  one  would  be 
told  that  whether  it  was  swearing  or  not  it  was 
"  not  at  all  a  nice  word  for  us  to  use  " — which 
wasn't  the  point.  For  if  it  was  not  swearing  it 
was  a  sinful  waste  not  to  use  it.  Thus  in  our 
wordy  warfare,  when  one  or  other  of  the  com- 


26  Days  of  Discovery 

batants  had  stepped  beyond  the  usual  range  and 
employed  an  expression  of  a  higher  flavour  than 
was  customary,  his  opponent  had  only  to  say 
"  That's  swearing "  to  pull  him  up  at  once. 
It  was  equivalent  to  telling  him  that  he  wasn't 
playing  the  game.  Upon  which  he  would  of 
course  deny  it,  and  then  the  original  point  in 
dispute  was  happily  forgotten  in  the  interesting 
investigation  which  followed.  The  disputed 
word  must  be  submitted  to  a  committee  of  ex- 
perts and  we  would  solemnly  make  up  our  minds 
whether  it  was  admissible  or  no.  But  if  it  was 
adjudged  by  common  consent  to  be  outside  the 
legitimate  list  of  expressions,  its  user  needed  no 
condemnation  from  his  fellows.  He  would  suffer 
from  an  inward  remorse  at  the  thought  of  the 
dreadful  thing  that  he  had  done,  howbeit  all 
unwittingly.  In  truth  we  kept  remarkably  on  the 
safe  side.  In  the  absence  of  an  authoritative 
statement  we  were  careful  to  draw  the  line  in 
such  a  way  that  there  could  be  no  possibility  of 
error. 

One  by  one  words  lost  their  force  and  flavour 
by  lavish  repetition.  I  can  see  now  that  we 
squandered  them  too  freely.  One  was  far  too 
much  given  to  firing  off  the  best  word  in  all  one's 


opprobrious    'Epithets  27 

armoury  upon  a  trivial  occasion,  instead  of  waiting 
for  a  situation  worthy  of  it,  where  it  might  be 
expected  to  tell  with  effect.  There  was  of  course 
a  certain  element  of  competition  which  was 
largely  responsible  for  this  prodigality,  for  I  must 
get  the  best  words  in  before  my  adversary  had 
thought  of  them.  He  could  not  possibly  retaliate 
in  the  same  terms.  And  so,  when  times  were 
dull,  and  no  new  material  had  been  found  for 
long,  one  must  go  on  using  outworn  phrases  with 
a  sort  of  persistent  weariness.  There  were  even 
occasions  when  one  became  almost  courteous  and 
restrained  in  one's  conversation  for  want  of  new 
matter.  Words  also,  as  a  rule,  worked  down  from 
the  higher  level  to  the  lower  in  the  course  of 
their  brief  activity.  They  were  generally  intro- 
duced by  the  older  members,  who  would  bring 
them  into  play  with  great  effect  at  first.  But 
when  they  were  taken  up  by  those  below  their 
original  authors  repudiated  them  after  a  while. 
Till  in  their  last  most  lowly  estate  they  came  to 
be  lisped  by  my  little  sister  in  her  rare  moments 
of  asperity. 

This  was  the  fate  of  "  Cad  "  and  "  Lunatic." 
"  Outsider "  had  a  brief  and  brilliant  run. 
"  Rotter  "  was  enormously  popular,  and  even  re- 


28  Days  of  Discovery 

curred,  after  its  first  long  innings,  in  several 
vigorous  revivals,  so  hardly  did  we  come  to  part 
with  it.  But  there  was,  as  far  as  I  remember,  no 
more  dramatic  moment  than  the  introduction  of 
"  Blighter,"  used  with  startling  effect  by  Sidney, 
my  eldest  brother,  on  the  occasion  of  an  alterca- 
tion as  to  who  it  was  who  had  first  seen  a  found 
penny  on  the  road.  Even  the  penny  was  forgotten 
in  the  general  rejoicing  at  this  magnificent  acquisi- 
tion. But  its  course  was  brief.  A  strong  suspicion 
grew  up  that  it  was  swearing  :  and  though  it  was 
upon  the  tip  of  one's  tongue  a  thousand  times 
thereafter,  it  was  never  again  hurled  forth  in  all 
its  glory.  "  Half-wit  "  was  invented  or  discovered 
by  myself,  and  in  consequence  I  always  had  a 
pecuHar  weakness  for  it.  Perhaps  I  have  still. 
It  was  not,  like  so  many  of  its  compeers,  adapted 
to  a  sudden  shout  of  anger.  But  it  could  be  driven 
home  with  enormous  effect  by  the  hammer  of  a 
scathing  scorn. 

Then  there  were  the  various  places  that  you 
could  be  told  to  go  to.  So  valuable  was  this  form, 
in  the  traffic  of  everyday  intercourse,  that  it 
was  never  wholly  allowed  to  drop,  although  the 
victim's  destination  was  continually  being  altered 
and  revised.     The  difficulty  was   to  handle  it 


opprobrious  Epithets  29 

without  encroaching  upon  the  forbidden  territory 
of  swearing,  for  there  are  places  that  one  is  told 
to  go  to,  even  in  after  life,  that  had  to  be  avoided. 
But  you  were  freely  told  to  go  to  Jericho  or  to  go 
to  Portobello.  Best  of  all  you  could  be  told  to 
go  to  Blazes — which,  by  the  way,  was  felt  to  be 
sailing  very  near  the  wind. 

The  entire  traffic  in  abuse  had  thus  its 
artistic  side,  which  perhaps  did  something  to 
redeem  it.  It  was  not  enough  to  revile  in  any 
terms  that  came  to  hand.  They  must  be  fresh 
and  vigorous  or  they  went  for  nothing.  One  had 
perhaps  picked  up  a  brand-new  insult  from  a  book 
or  in  a  tramway  car  and  one  would  dwell  upon 
it  earnestly  in  private,  trying  to  assess  its  value, 
to  foresee  its  effect.  The  moment  came  at  last 
when  it  was  launched  into  the  world,  not  without 
some  nervousness.  For  its  author  must  watch 
its  effect  in  two  separate  directions.  First  upon  his 
opponent — ^would  it  make  him  squirm  ?  Secondly 
upon  the  company  at  large — would  it  be  received, 
admired,  adopted  ?  The  latter  was  much  the 
more  important  question.  If  it  was  introduced 
by  a  younger  brother  especially,  he  would 
await  the  issue  with  anxiety.  And  were  he  to 
hear   it   later   on   upon   the   lips   of   an    elder, 


30  Days  of  Discovery 

with  what  fine  pride  would  he  reflect  that  it 
was  his ! 

I  had  been  out  to  tea — surely  it  must  have 
been  very  early  in  my  criminal  career — and  there 
had  heard  a  new  and  glorious  word,  splendidly 
adapted,  so  it  seemed  to  me,  for  use  on  the  new 
under-nurse.  But  when  I  was  taken  oif  to  bed — 
obviously  the  proper  moment  for  its  first  appear- 
ance— I  could  by  no  means  remember  it !  Long 
and  deeply  did  I  ponder,  during  the  process  of 
undressing  and  in  my  bath.  It  was  not  "  Beast " 
and  yet  it  was  alHed  to  "  Beast."  I  was  so 
"  good  "  that  night  that  not  even  twenty  had 
to  be  counted  ere  I  gave  myself  up  to  the  towel. 
But  the  truth  was  I  was  deep  in  thought,  trying 
with  all  my  powers  to  recapture  my  lost  treasure. 
I  had  reached  the  night  nursery  before  it  came  to 
me.  I  was  in  the  very  act  of  being  congratulated 
upon  my  model  behaviour.  There  could  have 
been  no  more  dramatic  moment  to  test  its 
quality.  I  sprang  across  the  room,  turned  upon 
my  unfortunate  conductor. 

"  You  Brute  !  "  I  shouted  and  tumbled  into 
bed. 


IV 

REVENGE 

Generally  speaking,  one  grew  out  of  one's 
enmities  and  animosities  even  more  rapidly  than 
one  grew  out  of  one's  clothes.  There  was  no 
doubt  a  time  when  if  strained  relations  existed 
between  two  of  us  we  attacked  each  other  at 
sight  (remembering  the  guiding  principle  that  if 
you  scratched  you  left  your  mark,  but  if  you 
pinched  there  was  no  evidence  against  you). 
But  at  least  we  did  not  harbour  and  maintain 
our  enmity.  Even  in  the  event  of  that  most 
terrible  and  desolating  tragedy  of  childhood,  a 
miscarriage  of  justice,  our  dark  fury  against  the 
oppressor  did  not  long  survive.  Retaliation  must 
follow  very  quickly  or  not  at  all.  But  there 
would  be  some  hours  of  bitter  resentment  all 
the  same.  For  one  made  no  allowances  :  the 
bald  and  naked  truth  stood  out  in  all  its  hideous 
enormity.  One  had  a  terrible,  uncompromising 
sense  of  justice  in  those  days.    There  was,  I  am 

31 


32  Days  of  Discovery 

sure,  no  calamity  which  could  so  darken  the  whole 
aspect  of  existence  as  to  be  punished  for  something 
which  one  had  not  done.  Then  one  sought  some 
distant  solitude — by  preference  an  actively  un- 
comfortable one — and  there  brooded  upon  one's 
wrongs  and  let  them  rankle  deep.  At  first  one 
felt  that  it  was  just  no  use  going  on  at  all,  in  the 
face  of  this  sort  of  thing.  One  supposed  one 
would  have  to  run  away — it  would  be  a  great 
bore"--one  had  after  all  been  very  happy  here, 
until  this  happened,  and  the  outside  world  was 
by  repute  inclement.  But  what  could  one  do? 
It  was  no  use  trying  to  go  on  as  if  nothing  had 
happened.  The  next  phase,  so  far  as  I  can  recall 
it,  was  that  in  which  one  pondered  upon  the 
attractions  of  "  making  them  sorry,"  not  by  any 
aggressive  action  on  one's  own  part,  but  by  some 
noble  example  of  silent  suffering,  patiently  borne. 
Suppose  that  one  did  run  away  and  met  with  a 
cab  accident  at  the  very  door  (it  would  have  to 
happen  in  the  earliest  stages)  :  suppose  one  were 
carried  in,  limp  and  pale,  and  deposited  upon 
the  dining-room  table  (one  would  occupy  the 
centre  of  the  stage  much  more  effectively  there 
than  on  a  mere  bed).  I'he7i  they  would  be  sorry. 
Suppose  one  were  to  starve  oneself  to  death, 


Revenge  3  3 


calmly  and  without  a  tear  ?  That  would  give 
them  more  time  to  relent.  Or  it  might  even  be 
possible  to  go  one  better  than  that.  If  one  were 
to  lose  one's  life  in  saving  Archie  from  drowning, 
and  they  only  found  out  afterwards  that  it  really 
had  been  Archie  who  had  done  it — who  had, 
that  is,  turned  on  the  taps  in  the  bathroom  and 
left  them  running  ?  I  think  we  may  safely  say 
that  they  would  be  sorry  then.  .  .  .  There  was 
the  tea  bell !  One  could  afford  to  laugh,  harshly, 
cynically  at  that  summons.  It  would  be  ridicu- 
lous and  impossible  to  appear  at  tea  before  one 
had  made  up  one's  mind  as  to  whether  one  was 
going  to  starve  or  not.  And  the  room  was  getting 
dark.  All  the  better  :  that  was  quite  in  the  pic- 
ture. It  wanted  that  to  furnish  the  completed 
situation  of  the  shivering  outcast.  .  .  .  But  one 
was  hungry — beastly  hungry.  And,  however 
much  one  might  set  one's  teeth  and  hold  on  to 
it  by  might  and  main,  the  shadow  was  already 
lifting.  Other  thoughts  would  insist  upon  in- 
truding themselves,  all  sorts  of  jolly  little  sug- 
gestions kept  cropping  up.  One  had  intended, 
before  all  this  happened,  to  spend  the  evening 
finishing  that  kite.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  this, 
one  would  have  had  to  make  up  one's  mind 
c 


34  Days  of  Discovery 

whether  to  paint  it  red  or  green.  If  this  had 
been  an  ordinary  day,  with  no  great  catastrophe 
to  upset  it,  one  might  have  added  another  four 
feet  to  the  tail  of  it.  And  to-morrow  was  a  half- 
holiday,  and  there  was  every  prospect  of  a  good 
wind.    And  .  .  . 

It  was  no  use.  It  had  been  very  line  in  its  way 
— a  noble  and  profound  experience,  but  it  was 
quite  impossible  to  keep  it  up.  Hilarious  voices 
in  the  distance  completed  the  cure.  What  did 
it  all  matter  after  all  ? 

It  was  only  in  the  very  earliest  stages  while  the 
injury  was  still  fresh,  before  the  long  train  of 
beautiful  and  melancholy  reflection  set  in,  that 
one  admitted  projects  of  revenge.  If  any  op- 
portunity occurred  then  for  hitting  back  with 
effect  it  would  be  recklessly  accepted. 

It  must  be  said  that  miscarriages  of  justice 
were  of  the  rarest  occurrence — so  rare  indeed 
that  one  remembers  most  of  them  even  now. 
But  I  remember  best  of  all  the  affair  of  the  tennis 
court,  because  that  was  the  one  occasion  on 
which  I  may  be  said  to  have  scored. 

There  was  to  be  a  tennis  party,  actually  the 
first  tennis  party — for  the  court  had  only  been 
constructed  during  the  previous  winter.     Pre- 


Revenge  3  5 


parations  were  afoot  and  the  nursery  was  in  a 
state  of  keen  excitement.  The  greatest  event 
was  the  production  by  Old  John  Gardener  of  a 
fascinating  new  machine,  which  was  pushed  by 
two  handles  up  and  down  the  lawn,  leaving 
behind  it  a  white  track  or  trail.  We  watched  him 
with  the  utmost  glee  marking  the  lines.  Perhaps 
we  had  pestered  the  old  man  even  more  than 
usual :  anyway  he  began  to  show  signs  of  a 
ruffled  temper,  and  when  he  found  the  string  of 
the  net  in  a  hopeless  state  of  entanglement  he 
seized  me  by  the  scruff  of  the  neck  and  marched 
me  into  the  house  for  judgment.  The  plain 
truth  was  that  I  had  not  done  it  but  in  the  general 
bustle  and  confusion  sentence  was  passed  without 
a  proper  hearing  (all  that  I  wanted  was  a  fair 
enquiry)  and  I  found  myself  condemned  to  spend 
the  next  half-hour  on  a  chair  far  from  the  scene 
of  action,  and  alone.  I  was  fortunately  able  to 
secure  a  chair  that  was  near  a  window  that  com- 
manded the  lawn.  There  I  sat  indulging  in 
immense  hatred  against  Those  in  Authority, 
against  old  John,  against  tennis  parties  and  tennis, 
and  all  that  had  contributed  to  my  predicament. 
Suddenly  an  exquisite  idea  came  to  me.  I  saw 
how  by  one  fell  blow  I  could  spoil  it  all.    The 


36  Days  of  Discovery 

preparations  were  completed  before  my  time 
was  up  :  in  twenty  minutes  the  guests  were  due 
to  arrive,  and  the  lawn  was  deserted.  If  I  could 
only  have  the  run  of  the  garden  till  they  came  ! 

I  stole  downstairs  and  made  my  way  to  the 
tap  at  the  corner  of  the  house,  where  (as  I  had 
hoped)  the  marking  machine  was  lying,  also  a 
bucket  of  whiting.  I  rolled  up  my  sleeves  and 
went  vigorously  to  work.  First  of  all  I  made  a 
trifling  addition  to  the  court  on  the  near  side  : 
after  that  I  threw  out  a  sort  of  wing  or  annex 
to  the  opposite  court.  Then  I  added  a  beautiful 
semicircular  bulge  beside  the  net.  Next  I  tried 
to  work  in  my  own  initials,  but  failed,  and 
hastened  back  to  the  tap  for  further  supplies. 
Then  I  put  in  two  diagonals  and  again  filled  up 
my  reservoir.  And  finally  I  embarked  upon  a 
perfect  riot  of  delineation  till  the  court  presented 
a  magnificent  tangle  of  white  lines,  wholly  bar- 
barous and  unmeaning. 

I  might  very  well  have  stopped  there,  but  the 
house  was  silent,  the  French  window  was  open 
and  my  blood  was  up.  .  .  . 

I  found  a  final  refuge  in  the  shrubbery,  from 
which  I  could  watch  events.  Already  I  heard 
the  first  arrivals  at  the  front  door.    There  they 


Revenge  37 


came  round  the  corner  of  the  house  in  smiling, 
affable  groups  (little  they  knew  what  was  in  store 
for  them  !)  dressed  in  elegant  white  flannels  and 
light  summer  dresses.  Nearly  every  one  had  a 
racquet  (they  might  as  well  have  left  those  at 
home  !)  and  here  was  one  who  carried  a  box  of 
balls.  Deeply  did  I  enjoy  the  emotions  with 
which  they  viewed  my  handiwork.  (They  will 
have  something  to  punish  me  for  this  time  !) 
It  was  a  pretty  awkward  situation  of  course  for 
Those  in  Authority  :  it  was  pretty  humiHating 
for  Old  John  Gardener  :  but  it  must  have  been 
the  purest  joy  for  my  allies  from  the  nursery  who 
had  by  now  begun  to  appear.  And  in  the  end  I 
was  dragged  forth,  a  little,  dirty,  white-bespat- 
tered object,  and  set  face  to  face  with  that 
elegant,  disconcerted,  disappointed  throng — to 
explain  myself. 

But  that  wasn't  all.    Let  them  wait  till  they 
saw  the  drawing-room  carpet  ! 


THE  MYSTIC  GULF 

There  was  nothing  in  the  old  garden  that  appealed 
to  us  as  children  more  than  its  Eastern  boundary. 
The  great  twelve- foot  wall  was  the  home  and 
centre  of  all  manner  of  queer  occupations  and 
pursuits.  It  was  broadly  coped  with  freestone 
and  massively  clothed  with  ancient  ivy  for  the 
greater  part  of  its  course,  and  the  top  of  it, 
obscured  by  the  luxuriant  leaves  and  scored  across 
by  hidden  branches,  formed  a  sort  of  adventurous 
and  rather  wobbly  causeway  where  one  might 
crawl  on  hands  and  knees  looking  down  upon 
the  world  beneath.  The  view  at  the  lower  end 
was  magnificent,  extending  -  even  to  the  Green- 
Hill-Far- Away  on  the  common,  and  at  its  greater 
altitude  the  dizzy  track  ran  in  among  the  trees, 
so  that  one  found  oneself  perched  in  a  close 
neighbourhood  of  impenetrable  greenery  on  the 
near  side.  On  the  far  side,  not  more  than  two 
feet   beyond   the  wall,   rose   the   stable   of  the 

38 


'The  Mystic  Gulf  39 

adjoining  house,  like  a  cliff,  to  the  gutters  where 
the  sparrows  dwelt  far  overhead.  Hoisting  one- 
self up  by  the  roof  of  the  potting-shed  at  the 
bottom  end  one  made  one's  way  along  the  summit, 
always  scaling  new  altitudes,  for  the  wall  rose 
here  and  there  in  sharp  curves.  And  thus  one 
might  practise  the  reckless  sport  of  dropping 
from  it,  adding  to  the  height  by  regular  grada- 
tions, and  adding  at  the  same  time  to  the  tingling 
sensation  of  "  pins-and-needles  "  that  character- 
ized the  moment  when  one  struck  the  ground. 
And  there  were  often  sparrows'  nests  in  the  ivy, 
and  lost  tennis  balls.  And  there  was  a  point 
from  which  one  could  look  through  the  roof  of  the 
conservatory  and  run  little  stones  down  it, 
tinkHng  over  the  glass.  But  the  highest  use  to 
which  the  old  wall  was  put  was  as  a  vantage 
ground  from  which  to  fish  in  the  Mystic  Gulf — 
the  narrow  strip  of  ground  that  had  been  left 
stranded  between  the  two  walls  when  the  stable 
of  the  Old  Gentleman's  House  next  door  was 
built.  It  was  deep  and  dank  as  any  dungeon  and 
splendidly  mysterious,  and  from  the  very  nature 
of  its  confined  and  narrow  space  it  was  quite 
untrodden  by  the  foot  of  man.  I  suppose  it  was 
for    that    very    reason    that    the    Mystic    Gulf 


40  Days  of  Discovery 

boasted  so  rich  a  deposit  of  useless  odds  and  ends 
among  the  rough  stones  and  broken  slates  that 
formed  its  main  contents. 

It  so  happened  that  the  dining-room  curtains 
at  that  time  were  supported  by  strong  brass 
hooks,  which  could  be  reached  with  a  gingerly 
outstretched  arm  from  the  top  of  the  sideboard, 
and  these  served  the  purpose  admirably.  It 
required  delicate  manipulation  to  control  them 
at  the  end  of  their  swaying  line,  and  some  patience 
and  no  little  skill  were  called  for  in  feeling  one's 
way  to  a  point  that  was  capable  of  admitting  the 
hook.  For  it  would  mumble  impotently  about 
the  smooth  surface  of  tin  cans,  and  the  old 
umbrella-stick  that  was  one  of  our  most  coveted 
prizes  could  with  difficulty  be  raised  more  than 
a  few  inches  from  the  ground.  But  we  laboured 
with  a  whole-hearted  devotion  quite  out  of  pro- 
portion to  the  importance  of  the  cause,  and  the 
museum  of  relics  which  we  had  established  in 
the  summer-house  added  daily  to  the  number  of 
its  specimens. 

As  time  went  on  innovations  were  introduced. 
We  would  let  down  a  lighted  candle  into  the 
darkest  recesses ;  two  anglers  would  work  in 
concert,  attacking  the  umbrella-stick  one  at  each 


The  Mystic  Gulf  41 

end  and  trying  to  lift  it  with  a  perfect  balance 
at  the  same  moment.  For  as  we  became  by  de- 
grees skilled  exponents  of  the  sport  we  despised 
the  more  obvious  prizes.  There  was  no  satisfac- 
tion in  fishing  up  a  broken  fire-guard,  for  instance, 
or  the  remnant  of  a  wicker  basket.  TTiese  were 
too  palpably  bookable.  It  was  to  the  most 
serious  problems  that  we  turned  longing  eyes — 
the  orange,  the  watering-pot,  the  twisted  poker. 
It  became  a  common  practice  to  dedicate  oneself 
for  the  afternoon  to  one  of  these,  the  baffling 
and  the  unattainable.  "  I  am  out  for  the  poker 
to-day,"  one  would  announce,  and  until  the  tea- 
bell  rang  one  would  suffer  no  distraction  from 
this  stern  endeavour.  It  was  comfort  enough 
to  have  had  a  bite — that  is  to  say,  to  have 
perceptibly  lifted  the  quarry  clear  of  the 
ground. 

It  was  Colin,  my  second  brother,  who  brought 
home  the  orange  in  an  impressive  scene,  during 
which  it  was  placed  with  elaborate  musical 
honours  in  the  forefront  of  the  museum.  He 
had  discarded  his  hook  and  line,  and  borrowing 
a  long  pole  from  the  bleaching  green  had  fitted 
it  with  a  stout  point  of  wire.  With  this  he  had 
skilfully  run  the  orange  to  ground  in  a  corner  of 


42  Days  of  Discovery 

the  wall,  speared  it  and  brought  it  up.  The  pole 
was  afterwards  found  useful  for  stirring  up  and 
altering  the  position  of  other  objects  so  as  to 
make  them  more  amenable  to  attack. 

And  then  there  came  a  day  when  our  long 
practice  was  put  to  good  account,  and  we  were 
able  to  save  ourselves  from  a  desperate  situation 
by  our  famiHarity  with  the  art.  For  it  was  the 
season  of  sparrows'  nests,  and  we  had  found  one 
in  the  waterpipe  that  ran  up  the  wall  beyond. 
It  was  so  placed  that  one  could  positively  see 
the  eggs  by  climbing  and  holding  on  in  a  dangerous 
and  distorted  position,  and  yet  the  opening  was 
so  small  that  they  were  not  to  be  reached.  But 
could  they  not  be  ladled  out  with  a  spoon  ? 
With  a  beautiful  disregard  for  the  value  of  pro- 
perty a  small  antique  silver  spoon  was  brought 
forthwith  from  the  cabinet  in  the  drawing-room, 
applied  by  an  eager  and  unsteady  hand,  and 
dropped  into  the  Mystic  Gulf  ! 

Here  was  indeed  something  to  fish  for.  Here 
was  a  new  element  of  urgency,  of  overwhelming 
gravity  introduced  into  the  sport.  Here  was  a 
sufficient  cause  to  put  us  on  our  mettle.  The 
candle,  on  being  lowered,  revealed  the  quarry 
lying  well  in  an  open  space.     But  we  recognised 


The  Mystic  Gulf  43 

with  dismay  that  nothing  is  less  vulnerable  to 
hook  or  spear  than  a  small  silver  spoon.  And  yet 
w^e  triumphed.  For  my  own  inherent  love  of  all 
that  is  sticky  prompted  me  to  a  brilliant  rescue. 
At  the  very  moment  of  the  ringing  of  the  tea-bell 
that  was  to  seal  our  fate,  and  in  the  centre  of  a 
thrilled,  expectant  group,  holding  back  the  ivy,  I 
let  down  a  tethered  tennis  ball  smeared  lavishly 
with  birdlime.  It  descended  with  perfect  pre- 
cision, and  I  allowed  it  to  settle  for  a  moment 
upon  its  prey  before  I  drew  it  triumphantly  to 
the  surface.  The  only  untoward  outcome  of 
the  incident  was  an  unmerited  reproof  to  the 
housemaid  for  neglecting  to  keep  the  silver 
clean. 

After  that  the  tennis  ball  became  for  a  time 
the  favourite  bait.  It  would  roam  about  the 
horrid  depths  gathering  an  unsavoury  cargo  of 
paper,  pieces  of  cloth,  or  anything  else  of  a 
readily  adhesive  nature.  These  were  not  admitted 
to  the  museum,  but  they  were  carefully  subjected 
to  examination  before  they  were  destroyed.  For 
we  had  a  wonderful  faith  in  the  possibilities  of 
our  Gulf,  and  it  seemed  not  at  all  unhkely  that 
one  might  strike  a  bank-note  or  a  cheque.  Such 
things  did  happen  ! 


44  Days  of  Discovery 

But  the  Gulf  became  exhausted.  Even  the 
umbrella-stick  and  the  watering-pot  had  been 
retrieved,  and  the  poker  had  been  given  up  as 
hopeless.  It  was  necessary  to  re-stock  our  waters. 
It  was  thus  that  the  custom  grew  up  of  casting 
in  all  manner  of  goods  and  chattels  for  the  sake 
of  fishing  them  up  again.  At  first  they  were  of 
no  value,  and  were  selected  solely  for  their  fish- 
able  properties,  but  we  were  not  satisfied  with 
that.  A  sort  of  sinister  competition  grew  up 
between  us  in  flinging  in  our  most  treasured 
belongings.  The  climax  was  reached  upon  a 
dreadful  day  when  we  all  set  to  work  to  outbid 
each  other  in  a  reckless  display  of  wanton  and 
courageous  sacrifice.  The  nursery  cupboard  was 
cleared  out,  private  drawers  were  searched  and 
rifled,  and  a  great  bale  of  miscellaneous  property 
was  hauled  to  the  top  of  the  wall — books,  knives, 
paint-boxes,  a  telescope,  a  tennis  racquet,  and 
many  other  treasures.  All  were  cast  recklessly 
into  the  depths,  and  we  peered  down  at  them 
with  quaking  hearts  and  faced  the  task  before 
us. 

I  doubt  not  that  all  would  have  ended  well 
had  it  not  been  for  the  thunderstorm.  As  it 
was,  our  salvage  operations  were  carried  out  two 


The  Mystic  Gulf  45 

days  later  in  the  spirit  of  dark  and  dogged  bitter- 
ness of  those  who  must  save  what  they  can  from 
the  wreck. 

And    we    fished    no    more     in    the    Mystic 
Gulf. 


VI 

THE  ORDEAL 

The  adventure  of  the  Mystic  Gulf  was  by  no 
means  the  only  occasion  on  which  we  engaged  in 
sinister  speculations  and  subjected  our  dearest 
belongings  to  the  Ordeal  in  divers  forms.  This 
strange  necessity  by  which  one's  goods  must  go 
forth  to  seek  their  fortune,  as  it  were,  led  us  into 
the  queerest  transactions.  It  was  not  that  we  were 
for  a  moment  indifferent  to  our  property.  Rather 
we  clung  to  it  with  a  burning  desire.  It  was 
terrible  to  lose  it  in  some  reckless  enterprise, 
though  even  then  one  had  a  feeling  that  it  had 
been  sacrificed  in  a  good  cause.  But  there  is  no 
question  that  it  had  an  added  value  and  a*  new 
prestige  when  it  had  tempted  Providence  and 
been  gloriously  retrieved. 

I  have  freighted  a  toy  boat  with  all  my  worldly 
wealth  in  pennies  and  pushed  it  forth,  with  a 
pang,  from  the  edge  of  the  pit.  I  have  listened 
at  night  with  a  quaking  heart  to  the  rain  upon 
the  window,  conscious  that  my  new  bow  and 

46 


The  Ordeal  47 


arrow  were  lying  unprotected  in  an  angle  of  the 
roof  to  which  I  had  surreptitiously  conveyed 
them.  I  have  buried  my  new  jack-knife  in  the 
shrubbery.  And,  best  of  all,  I  have  left  in  the 
box  that  held  the  books  in  the  family  pew  at 
church  a  real  stylographic  pen  for  a  whole  week, 
setting  forth  to  the  morning  service  when  the 
term  was  over,  with  quite  unusual  alacrity.  It 
was  splendid  to  pass  the  church  on  a  week-day 
when  it  was  deserted  and  locked  up,  hugging  the 
private  knowledge  that  there  was  a  stylographic 
pen  in  there — a  thing  that  no  one  would  have 
dreamt  of  for  a  moment. 

Those  in  Authority  did  not  understand  this 
attitude  at  all.  We  were  not  fit,  it  appeared  to 
them,  we  were  not  old  enough  to  have  such 
things  as  stylographic  pens  and  jack-knives  if  we 
valued  them  so  little.  But  that  was  a  colossal 
misjudgment  of  the  case.  It  was  just  because  we 
valued  them,  just  because  they  were  the  best 
and  dearest  that  we  had  that  they  must  face  the 
Ordeal.  It  was  when  Archie  and  I  were  given 
watches  for  the  first  time  that  we  had  to  submit 
to  the  gravest  indignities  in  this  connection — 
had  even  to  hear  a  favourite  uncle  blamed  for 
his  unthinking  generosity.     And  yet  I  am  con- 


48  Days  of  Discovery 

vinced  that  no  one  ever  loved  a  watch  more 
passionately  than  I  loved  mine.  Admittedly  it 
was  a  little  difficult  for  Grown-ups  to  understand, 
but  at  the  time  it  appealed  to  us  as  a  worthy  and 
necessary  test.  We  were  discovered  seated  on 
the  bank  above  the  lawn,  throwing  our  watches 
across  the  turf,  and  increasing  the  distance  after 
every  round.  Even  now  I  recall  the  thrill  with 
which  one  cast  them  in  the  air  ;  the  dreadful 
thud  with  which  they  dropped  among  the  daisies, 
striking  terror  to  the  owner's  heart.  One  of 
Those  in  Authority  intervened,  searching  ques- 
tions were  asked,  confiscation  even  was  contem- 
plated. It  was  not  the  sort  of  thing  that  is  easily 
explained,  but  we  confessed  the  truth  at  last, 
resentfully  and  in  no  expectation  of  sympathetic 
judgment.  We  were  simply  finding  out  which 
of  us  could  throw  his  watch  furthest  without 
stopping  it.  That  was  all.  We  never  meant  to 
break  them.  But  did  we  recognize  the  risk? 
Of  course  we  recognized  the  risk.  The  risk  was 
the  reason,  the  motive,  the  heart  of  the  whole 
affair.  As  well  throw  turnips  if  there  had  been 
no  risk.  We  had  to  promise  not  to  repeat  the 
experiment,  and  I  have  always  regretted  that  the 
thing  was  never  fought  to  a  finish. 


T^he  Ordeal  49 


Archie  and  I  went  to  school  at  that  time — in 
the  forenoons  only — to  a  house  a  mile  and  a  half 
off,  down  a  narrow  lane  running  out  into  the 
country.  An  old  wall  in  a  state  of  senile  decay 
ran  down  one  side  of  it,  and  on  the  other  was  a 
hedge  with  trees  here  and  there,  notably  a  vast 
hollow  oak.  So  that  the  whole  course  may  be 
said  to  have  been  rich  in  crevices  and  holes. 
One  day  Archie  with  much  bravado  dropped  his 
knife  into  one  of  them  on  the  way  to  school  and 
recovered  it  on  his  return.  From  that  moment 
the  new  game  had  begun — the  game  of  depositing 
a  variety  of  treasures  on  the  outward  journey  in 
favoured  holes  and  corners,  and  repossessing  our- 
selves of  them  on  our  homeward  way.  The  thing 
grew  in  scope  till  the  whole  mile-long  route  was 
stuffed  with  hidden  treasure  visible  only  to  our 
inward  eye.  At  last  we  would  start  out  with 
bulging  pockets  and  arrive  at  our  journey's  end 
depleted.  Profound  cunning  was  called  for,  as 
it  was  only  when  the  coast  was  clear  for  a  moment 
that  a  deposit  could  be  made  or  safely  withdrawn  ; 
and  during  the  hours  at  school  one  would  sit 
tingling  with  excitement  at  the  thought  of  all 
one's  property  thus  cast  adrift  in  jeopardy. 
There  was  a  double  chance  of  loss,  for  not  only 


50  Days  of  Discovery 

might  our  deposits  be  found  and  abstracted,  but 
so  great  and  complex  did  the  field  of  action 
become  that  one  might  well  forget  to  retrieve 
some  item  in  the  list.  Eagerly  we  vied  with  each 
other  in  pouring  out  with  a  lavish  hand  the 
noblest  of  our  possessions.  The  thing  reached  a 
point  when  one  had  no  longer  any  pleasure  in  a 
favourite  knife  or  purse  or  pocket-book  which 
had  not  passed  through  the  ordeal  and  braved 
for  three  mortal  hours  the  curiosity  of  the  passer- 
by. And  I  shall  never  forget  the  proud  moment 
of  reckless  heroism  which  was  mine  when  I 
plunged  my  beloved  watch  into  the  dead  leaves 
in  the  heart  of  the  hollow  tree.  But  I  had  to  pay 
for  it  with  a  long  and  terrible  morning  of  anxiety 
at  school.  When  the  game  had  lost  its  zest  and 
grown  stale  and  foolish  in  our  estimation,  I  was 
condemned  to  many  days  of  search  for  a  paint- 
box that  was  dear  to  me,  whose  special  cranny  I 
had  forgotten.  And  it  is  probable  that — if  the 
wall  be  standing  still — my  paint-box  is  somewhere 
secreted  in  it  yet. 


VII 

A  DINNER  PJRTT 

Now  that  one  has  become  a  mere  participant  in 
the  well-ordered  feast,  both  the  dinner  itself 
and  the  occasion  which  it  represents  have  lost 
much  of  their  original  flavour.  The  former 
should,  of  course,  to  be  fully  enjoyed,  be  stolen 
in  small  quantities  from  the  pantry,  and  con- 
sumed in  a  dark,  remote  spare  bedroom  ;  the 
iatter  should  be  viewed  surreptitiously  from  an 
ambush. 

I  can  remember  hardly  any  event  which  threw 
the  nursery  into  so  high  a  state  of  excitement  as  an 
impending  Dinner  Party.  For  this  strange  func- 
tion, whose  real  intention  was  wrapped  in  ob- 
scurity, laid  a  potent  spell  upon  the  house,  giving 
a  wholly  new  aspect  to  familiar  things,  subtly 
affecting  the  behaviour  of  familiar  persons.  From 
the  very  moment  when  the  iron  handle  was  brought 
forth  from  the  back  of  the  sideboard,  and  at  its 

51 


52  Days  of  Discovery 

magic  touch  the  dining-room  table  split  across 
the  centre  and  expanded  irresistibly  along  the 
carpet  (with  a  yawning  chasm  growing  by  inches 
in  its  interior)  and  was  thereafter  fitted  with 
"  leaves  "  to  make  good  the  discrepancy — till 
the  moment  when  one  had  been  finally  captured 
for  bed,  and  had  nothing  left  to  hope  for,  except 
to  try  to  keep  awake  to  listen  for  departing 
carriages,  the  afternoon  and  evening  resolved 
themselves  into  one  long  adventure. 

The  development  of  the  dining-room  table 
from  the  humble  board  at  which  we  had  lunched 
into  a  glittering  prodigy  that  filled  the  whole 
room  was  in  itself  a  thrilling  process,  rich  in 
cHmax.  Its  final  equipment  was  so  lavish,  so  far 
beyond  the  needs  of  the  case,  so  fantastic  and 
unreal  that  one  could  but  marvel  at  it  as  one  of 
the  most  astonishing  revelations  of  the  mind  of 
the  Grown-up.  The  number  of  knives  and  forks 
alone,  if  one  took  the  trouble  to  count  them,  was 
cause  for  laughter,  but  the  glasses  were  simply 
bewildering,  suggesting  as  they  did  a  degree  of 
excessive  and  discriminating  thirst  which  one  had 
never  dreamed  of.  The  only  innovation  with 
which  one  could  generously  sympathize  was  the 


A  Dinner  Party  53 

treatment  of  the  table  napkins.  In  these  up- 
standing and  contorted  forms — each  bearing  a 
small  roll  of  bread  within  its  snow-white  heart — 
one  could  almost  trace  the  hand  of  genius.  That 
was  a  feat  to  be  practised  with  clean  pocket- 
handkerchiefs  for  days  to  come. 

Of  course  it  was  well  understood,  as  it  had  been 
vigorously  laid  down,  that  our  sole  duty  on  such 
an  occasion  as  this  was  to  keep  out  of  the  way. 
But  to  obey  the  injunction  literally  was  more 
than  flesh  and  blood  could  be  expected  to  stand. 
It  was  really  very  little  use  trying  to  get  into 
the  kitchen — an  alluring  scene  of  distracted  effort, 
where  all  manner  of  miracles  were  being  performed 
— but  one  could  always  cHmb  down  the  dank 
little  enclosure  outside  and  enjoy  the  prospect 
from  the  windows,  slowly  mastering  by  observa- 
tion the  principal  items  of  the  bill  of  fare.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  one  was  pretty  well  posted  as  to 
the  progress  of  the  campaign,  and  if  there  had 
been  any  question  of  the  fish  arriving  late,  or 
any  doubt  at  all  as  to  the  successful  outcome  of 
the  savoury,  the  company  at  nursery  tea  had  dis- 
cussed the  crisis  with  sympathetic  interest. 
Nursery  tea  was  apt  to  be  inadequate  on  these 
occasions,  but  we  made  no  complaint  on  that 


54  Days  of  Discovery 

score.  Well  we  knew  —  who  better  ?  —  the 
strain  that  had  been  thrown  on  the  adminis- 
tration. 

The  next  glorious  event  of  the  evening  was 
the  appearance  of  Old  John  Gardener.  That 
was  one  of  the  finest  examples  of  the  faculty  of 
the  party  for  turning  all  things  topsy-turvy.  For 
John — it  was  obvious  to  the  meanest  intelligence 
— looked  hopelessly  out  of  place  in  the  house, 
though  we  were  all  agreed  that  he  was  exceed- 
ingly handsome  in  his  black  suit.  For  a  long  time 
we  believed  that  he  was  regularly  called  in  when 
the  climax  arrived  as  a  sort  of  dictator  to  take 
over  the  complete  direction  of  the  affair — a  posi- 
tion quite  admirably  in  accordance  with  his 
talents  ;  and  it  was  with  something  of  disappoint- 
ment that  we  discovered  later  that  his  was  the 
humbler  office  of  assisting  with  the  carving 
and  carrying  the  heavy  dishes  up  the  kitchen 
stairs. 

Before  we  come  to  the  active  period  of  skir- 
mishing which  filled  the  evening,  I  would  point 
out  that  much  depended  on  the  waitress  of  the 
moment.  There  were  several  of  these  in  our  day, 
but  they  all  fell  into  one  of  two  classes ;  those 
who  said  they  would  bring  you  something  after- 


A  Dinner  Party  55 

wards  if  you  would  go  away  now  and  be  good, 
and  those  who  gave  you  something  at  once  as 
the  price  of  your  going  away. 

The  Arrival  was  witnessed,  of  course,  from  a 
safe  ambush.  The  favourite  spot  was  the  curtain 
at  the  head  of  the  stairs  which  commanded  the 
hall,  but  it  only  accommodated  two.  Others 
must  be  content  with  the  top  of  the  long  linen- 
press  in  the  lobby  or  the  chink  of  a  half-closed 
door.  When  each  new-comer  was  safely  stowed 
in  the  drawing-room  we  could  come  out  and 
compare  notes,  ready  to  seek  cover  again  at  the 
next  ring  of  the  bell.  But  we  were  always  in 
our  places  when  dinner  was  announced,  lying 
flat  upon  the  upper  landing  and  peering  through 
the  banisters,  enjoying  a  magnificent  view  of  the 
short  procession  as  it  turned  into  the  dining- 
room. 

After  that  there  was  a  pause  for  a  while.  My 
sister  probably  detached  herself  from  the  main 
party,  and  stole  into  the  bedroom  behind  us  with 
a  view  to  examining  from  a  safe  distance,  and  not 
without  a  certain  awe,  the  cloaks  of  the  visiting 
ladies  laid  out  upon  the  bed.  It  seemed  silly,  but 
girls  were  like  that.  In  the  meantime  there  was 
not  much  to  be  done,  for  no  one  is  interested  in 


56  Days  of  Discovery 

soup,  and  the  occasion  was,  therefore,  a  good  one 
to  go  down  to  the  dining-room  door  and  "  listen 
to  the  buzz."  There  we  would  stand  whispering 
for  a  time  while  feverish  servitors  passed  to  and 
fro.  And  certainly  there  was  nothing  more 
mysterious  or  memorable  in  the  whole  evening's 
entertainment  than  this  strange  penetrating  buzz 
of  conversation  which  rose  almost  to  a  scream 
whenever  the  door  was  opened.  That  they  were 
all  talking  at  once  at  the  top  of  their  voices  was, 
of  course,  obvious,  though  one  could  never  dis- 
tinguish the  words.  But  what  were  they  talking 
about  ?  And  why  in  the  world  did  they  do  it  ? 
This  was  no  ordinary  conversation.  It  was 
clamour.  And  yet  one  must  suppose  they  were 
eating  all  the  time. 

After  that  one  would  always  pay  a  visit  to  the 
deserted  drawing-room  where  the  lire  burned 
brightly  and  the  lights  were  low.  It  gave  one 
some  sort  of  curious  satisfaction  to  occupy  the 
very  stage  of  this  fantastic  drama,  between  scenes, 
and  to  discuss  the  gay  host  that  would  so  soon 
return  to  it.  But  we  must  be  up  and  doing,  for 
a  scout  has  reported  that  the  joint  has  already 
descended  to  the  kitchen,  and  the  moment  for 
active  pillage  has  arrived.    From  our  base  upon 


A  Dinner  Party  57 

the  upper  landing  a  series  of  raids  would  then  be 
made,  and  woe  to  the  dish  which,  having  served 
its  purpose  in  the  dining-room,  was  left  unguarded 
in  an  empty  pantry  !  One  after  another  we  tried 
our  luck  with  varying  success,  making  merry 
picnic  with  the  spoils.  As  time  went  on,  the 
sport  became  more  and  more  exciting,  for  we  had 
two  forces  to  contend  with.  On  the  one  hand 
Old  John  Gardener,  now  relieved  from  his  more 
pressing  duties,  would  take  it  upon  himself  to 
guard  the  stairs,  and  an  attack  could  only  be 
made  at  a  moment  when  he  had  been  called 
away. 

On  the  other  hand,  we  were  already  being 
captured  ourselves,  every'one  in  his  turn,  for  bed, 
and  the  company  diminished  fast  as  one  reluctant 
victim  after  another  was  borne  off  to  the  night 
nursery.  There  was  still,  of  course,  the  possibility 
of  a  daring  descent  in  one's  night-shirt,  but  by 
that  time  there  was  an  added  risk.  For  at  any 
moment  the  ladies  might  emerge  into  the 
hall. 

Even  when  one  had  settled  down  for  the  night 
there  was  always  a  remote  chance  that  an  ally 
in  the  kitchen  would  send  up  some  final  fragment 
of  dessert.     But  it  was  not  likely.     One  must 


58  Days  of  Discovery 

resign  oneself  to  listening  to  the  faint  strains  of 
music  from  below,  and  pondering  upon  the  central 
problem  which  never  grew  stale — of  why  they 
did  this  sort  of  thing,  and  if  they  really  had 
enjoyed  themselves. 


VIII 

DISCOVERT 

Many  of  the  most  vivid  and  memorable  of  our 
adventures  were  the  outcome  of  the  burning  need 
to  Explore.  Which  of  us  has  not  been  deeply 
thrilled  by  the  compelling  invitation  of  a  closed 
door  in  a  high  vi^all  about  which  the  cobwebs 
hang  and  whose  hinges  are  rusted  with  long 
disuse  ?  Which  of  us  has  been  able  to  contem- 
plate unmoved  the  discovery  of  an  unknown 
grating  in  the  garden  or  an  unknown  trapdoor 
in  the  roof  ? 

I  had  had  an  astounding  glimpse  into  the 
possibilities  of  a  strange  hinterland  on  a  memor- 
able afternoon  when  I  had  come  upon  a  plumber 
at  work  in  the  store-room,  of  all  places.  He  had 
opened  a  Uttle  wooden  door  in  the  wall — most 
strange  that  we  had  never  noticed  it ! — and  by 
the  yellow  light  of  his  candle,  there  thrust  in, 
had  shown  up  a  dusty  cavern,  reaching  away  into 
the  shadows  beyond,  where  there  were  pipes  and 

59 


6o  Days  of  Discovery 

rafters  and  a  dank,  alluring  smell.  It  was  no  little 
disappointment  that  he  should  have  locked  the 
door  when  he  had  finished.  But  perhaps  there  were 
other  such  doors.  Yes — it  was  almost  too  good 
to  be  true — but  a  long,  wet  half-holiday  spent  in 
patient  search  of  every  possible  place  of  con- 
cealment revealed  no  less  than  three.  There  was 
one  high  up  in  the  wall  of  the  servants'  bedroom, 
a  second  behind  the  wardrobe  in  the  spare  room, 
and  a  third — a  trapdoor,  no  less — in  the  roof  of 
the  landing.  And,  when  I  came  to  think  of  it, 
there  was  a  whole  basketful  of  keys  in  the  pantry 
cupboard.  One  of  them  was  bound  to  fit. 
Clearly  the  time  had  come  to  gloat  upon  the 
prospects  of  the  enterprise  and  lay  plans  with 
studied  deliberation.  I  could  hardly  fail  to  wear 
a  look  of  superior  intelligence  in  my  dealings  with 
"  the  others."  They  who  still  regarded  a  house 
as  a  thing  of  rooms  and  passages,  and  nothing 
more.    Little  they  knew  1 

For,  unlike  all  other  nursery  enterprises,  which 
depended  much  upon  companionship  and  con- 
certed action,  the  enterprise  of  discovery  must 
be  pursued  alone,  else  would  it  lose  its  flavour. 
One  would  have  had  no  real  or  lasting  joy  in  it 
had  one  not  been  "  the  first  that  ever  burst  " 


Discovery  6 1 


into  an  unknown  lumber-room  or  disused  coal- 
hole. The  Grown-up  Persons  may  have  known. 
It  was  their  house  ;  strange  if  they  were  not 
fully  acquainted  with  its  contents.  And  yet,  on 
reflection,  one  concluded  that  they  had  probably 
got  no  further  than  suspecting  that  such  things 
were.  It  remained  for  me  to  make  every  hole 
and  corner  of  the  building  my  own  by  pains- 
taking investigation.  And  then — if  one  came  to 
think  of  it — what  hiding-places  1  You  could  lie 
ferdu  while  the  house  resounded  to  the  tramp  of 
Callers !  You  could  hear  your  name  shouted  in 
every  room  with  absolute  security.  Decidedly 
much  had  been  added  to  the  glorious  possibilities 
of  life  by  my  interview  with  the  plumber  in  the 
store-room.  He  knew,  but  I  was  not  surprised  at 
that.  I  had  always  considered  plumbers  to  be 
men  of  extraordinary  intelligence. 

As  soon  as  I  had  wriggled  my  adventurous  way 
through  the  little  door  in  the  servants'  bedroom 
and  groped  on  with  beating  heart  till  I  found  I 
could  stand  upright,  as  soon  as  my  shaking  hands 
had  set  my  candle-end  alight,  I  knew  that  here 
was  all  that  I  had  hoped  for,  and  more.  I  sat 
down  to  try  to  realize  the  great  experience. 
Beneath   my   feet  were  rafters,   running  cross- 


62  Days  of  Discovery 

wise,  with  grey  bulged  lines  of  plaster  between 
them,  which  rather  puzzled  me.  They  had  such 
an  untidy,  unfinished  appearance.  And  there 
were  props  here  and  there  in  the  roof,  which 
sloped  up  above  me  ;  and  everywhere  were  cob- 
webs, dust,  and  a  sour,  choking  smell.  I  dare  say 
the  smell  was  the  best  of  it.  Had  the  place  been 
clean  and  airy  how  much  it  would  have  lost ! 
So  I  set  out  across  the  rafters  and  came  to  a  great 
cistern,  which  fizzed  and  sputtered  internally, 
and  beyond  that  I  saw  a  faint  suggestive  light 
rising  from  the  floor  of  the  cavern.  So  low  was 
the  roof  at  that  part  that  I  must  creep  upon  my 
hands  and  knees.  Still  I  went  forward,  not 
without  delicious  thrills  of  terror,  for  my  line  of 
retreat  seemed  far  away  by  now,  until  I  reached 
a  little  opening  covered  with  perforated  zinc. 
Lying  on  my  face  I  peered  down.  With  what  a 
sudden  shock  of  throbbing  delight  did  I  see  before 
me,  as  in  a  picture,  the  old  familiar  nursery  ! 
There,  all  unsuspecting,  was  Lizzie,  the  under- 
nurse,  laying  the  table  for  tea.  There,  with  no 
idea  of  the  tremendous  events  that  were  going 
forward  above  him,  was  my  younger  brother 
playing  with  his  soldiers.  I  could  even  see  upon 
the  sofa  the  book  that  I  had  flung  down  but 


Discovery  63 


half  an  hour  ago — in  the  old  days  before  I  had 
become  an  explorer.  I  could  feel  the  hot  air 
from  the  gas  rushing  up  through  the  opening.  I 
could  hear  the  clink  of  china.  It  was  very  strange 
that  that  should  be  possible,  that  I  should  even 
be  able  to  make  out  the  details  of  the  room — 
vrfth  the  naked  eye.  I  v^histled  softly.  Archie 
looked  up,  gazed  round  the  room  with  a  puzzled 
expression,  and  I  chuckled  with  delight.  Here, 
again,  were  possibilities,  not  to  be  immediately 
expended.  How  I  would  haunt  and  baffle  them 
all  in  the  days  to  come  !  I  pictured  to  myself  an 
occasion  at  nursery  tea  when  a  deep  voice  from 
the  sky  would  startle  and  arrest  the  company.  But 
Lizzie  kept  bloving  dust  oif  the  table-cloth  and 
looking  up  to  see  where  it  came  from.  It  was 
time  to  beat  a  retreat. 

The  door  behind  the  wardrobe  proved  very 
disappointing,  revealing  only  a  single  pipe  in  a 
small  wooden  case,  and  it  was  many  weeks  before 
I  managed  to  make  my  way  through  the  trap- 
door in  the  landing.  That  was  the  greatest 
afternoon  of  all,  as  it  was  also  the  last.  I  roamed 
at  will  in  strange  low  tunnels,  untrodden  for  half 
a  century  by  the  foot  of  man.  I  found  a  grimy 
skylight,  and  when  I  had  rubbed  away  the  cob- 


64  Days  of  Discovery 

webs  *from  it  could  see  outside  the  tossing  leaves 
of  trees.  I  found  myself,  in  the  course  of  my 
journey,  over  the  dining-room,  over  the  bath- 
room, and  over  the  hall.  I  climbed  dov^n  peri- 
lously from  one  level  to  another.  I  saw  a  rat, 
and  fled  in  abject  fear,  slipping  between  the  rafters 
on  to  laths  that  seemed  to  give  for  a  moment 
beneath  my  weight ;  and  at  the  last  I  lost  myself 
completely  and  sat  shivering  with  my  candle,  a 
forgotten  outcast,  wondering  if  by  now  the  rest 
of  them  were  safe  in  bed.  Then  I  saw  before 
me  a  narrow  opening  I  had  not  explored,  and 
started  out  again  with  fresh  hope.  It  led  me  to 
the  most  astounding  solution  of  my  difficulty, 
for  I  came  out  triumphant,  not  by  the  trapdoor, 
but  by  the  old  familiar  entrance  from  the 
servants'  bedroom.  And  by  the  clock  which 
I  consulted  there — it  was  not  yet  time  for 
tea  ! 

But  there  was  something  astir  in  the  hall  below, 
where  the  whole  household  was  collected.  And, 
indeed,  a  startling  phenomenon  had  come  to 
pass.  The  floor  was  covered  with  dust  and 
plaster.  The  china  on  the  cabinet  lay  in  frag- 
ments among  the  debris,  and  overhead  could  be 
seen  in  the  high  ceiling  a  great  open  scar,  not 


Discovery  6  5 


unlike  the  map  of  Australia,  where  clean,  white 
laths  were  visible.  There  was  no  more  exploring 
after  that,  but  it  was  sheer  bad  luck,  as  I  knew  well, 
that  had  brought  me  to  this  pass.  For  it  never 
need  have  happened  had  it  not  been  for  the  rat. 


IX 

i:he  phases  of  olinda 

In  the  beginning  of  things  Olinda — which  was 
the  house  next  door — had  been,  as  it  were,  a 
sister  house  to  our  own.  That  was  one  leading 
reason  why  we  regarded  her  many  turns  of 
fortune  with  sympathetic  interest.  We  had,  I 
think,  a  vague,  unexplained  feeling  that  had 
things  been  other  than  they  were  we  might  have 
been  living  in  Olinda.  We  were  so  near  to  that, 
though  we  had  just  missed  it.  But  with  the  years 
the  close  similarity  between  the  two  houses 
passed  away.  After  a  while  we  could  no  longer 
regard  our  neighbour  as  an  equal  but  rather  as  a 
humble  reminder  of  the  state  from  which  we 
ourselves  had  risen.  For  Olinda  was  left  behind. 
It  is  true  that  she  was  the  first  to  make  a  move. 
It  was  just  about  that  dim,  borderland  period 
when  one  "  began  to  remember  "  that  Olinda 
invested  in  a  new  conservatory  on  the  far  side 

66 


The  Phases  of  Olinda  67 

of  the  front  door  (the  building  of  which  I  must 
always  look  back  to  as  the  first  outstanding  event 
of  my  Hfe,  that  I  can  recall  as  an  eye-witness). 
This  led  to  a  still  more  striking  innovation  in 
the  re-shaping  of  the  whole  contour  of  the 
drive. 

We  were  not  long  in  retaliating,  however,  with 
powerful  effect,  in  the  form  of  no  less  than  three 
structural  alterations  in  the  next  few  years. 
First  came  the  addition  to  the  drawing-room, 
which  actually  had  the  effect  of  pushing  the  front 
door  round  the  corner  :  then  followed  the  new 
nursery  wing,  which  completely  shifted  the  centre 
of  gravity  of  the  house,  as  it  were  :  and  finally 
the  new  spare  room,  culminating  in  the  Tower, 
from  which  we  could  look  down  over  the 
intervening  trees  upon  our  dwarfed  com- 
petitor. 

But  events  out  of  doors,  which  followed  at  a 
later  stage,  were  still  more  startling  and  dramatic. 
For  there  we  not  only  outgrew  Olinda,  but 
prospered  at  her  expense.  Circumstances  so  fell 
out  that  we  began  to  annex  our  neighbour's 
garden.  After  the  early,  prosperous  days  of  the 
Girls'  School,  as  she  was  slowly  sagging  downward 


68  Days  of  Discovery 

in  the  social  scale  to  the  point  when  her  drive 
was  untended  and  her  conservatory  was  bare, 
bit  by  bit  her  crumbling  territory  fell  into  our 
hands.  First  the  boundary  was  thrust  back  so  as 
to  absorb  the  walk  and  the  two  walnut  trees. 
Then  one  summer  our  lawn  enjoyed  a  prodigious 
expansion,  devouring  the  space  almost  up  to 
her  very  windows.  And  then  (and  this  was  the 
most  astounding  move  of  all)  our  kitchen  garden 
leapt  over,  so  to  speak,  to  the  farther  side  of  her 
diminished  lawn,  a  connecting  walk  was  made  at 
the  foot ;  and  thus  Olinda  was  completely  in- 
vested, encircled,  and  became,  rightly  regarded, 
no  more  than  a  bite,  walled  off  and  reserved  out 
of  our  own  domain. 

In  its  earliest  stage,  Olinda's  chief  use  in  our 
eyes  was  as  a  happy  hunting  ground  for  exploring 
parties.  It  was  simply  a  question  of  getting  as  far 
as  you  could  without  being  seen.  There  were 
admirable  shrubberies  on  both  sides — there  was 
a  clump  of  bushes  almost  opposite  the  drawing- 
room  windows — there  was  a  high  wall  to  surmount 
at  the  very  outset,  and  as  the  gardener  was  a 
man  of  short  and  choleric  temper  (but  no  great 
runner)  it  might  be  said  that  all  the  necessary 


The  Phases  of  Olinda  69 

conditions  were  forthcoming.  By  a  succession  of 
stealthy  and  cautious  expeditions  we  had  soon 
covered  the  greater  part  of  the  garden  and  laid 
bare  its  secrets.  Once  under  shield  of  darkness  a 
scout  had  even  reached  the  stable  yard,  and 
reported  a  trough  of  a  pattern  hitherto  unknown 
to  us  and  a  pig-sty — and  that  was  a  thing  no  one 
would  have  suspected.  On  another  occasion  our 
advance  guard  was  taken  red-handed  at  the  end 
of  the  kitchen  garden  by  the  lady  of  the  house, 
who,  to  his  intense  annoyance,  received  him  with 
perfect  kindness  and  good-will  and  offered  him 
gooseberries.  Had  she  been  thoroughly  angry 
some  credit  might  have  been  got  out  of  the 
encounter,  but  as  it  was  the  taste  for  exploring 
suffered  a  set-back. 

Then  came  a  sudden  change  and  the  great  day 
of  the  Sale,when  we  could  roam  about  the  grounds 
at  will  (though  we  were  not  allowed  to  go  inside 
the  house  among  the  throng  that  followed  the 
auctioneer)  and  set  our  minds  at  rest  about  the 
pig-sty  and  the  trough. 

And  after  that — The  Girls'  School.  It  cannot 
be  said  that  that  period,  which  covered  several 
years,  was  productive  of  much  interest  or  curiosity 
on  our  part."   It  was  in  accord  with  our  outlook 


70  Days  of  Discovery 

at  that  stage  to  regard  a  girls'  school  as  a  very 
monument  of  futility.  We  should  have  said,  if 
questioned  on  the  point,  v^ith  bitter  scorn  that 
we  should  have  to  be  pretty  hard  up  before  we 
began  to  take  an  interest  in  girls'  schools.  Clearly 
it  was  the  manlier  course  to  ignore  it  altogether, 
but  there  was  no  more  effective  method  of  re- 
proving one's  younger  sister  than  to  threaten  her 
with  Olinda  when  she  grew  up.  And  yet  there 
were  some  few  occasions  when  we  broke  through 
this  fine  indifference.  When  pea  shooters  hap- 
pened to  be  particularly  in  vogue,  or  perhaps  at 
the  snow-balling  season,  certain  passages  did  occur 
between  us.  And  when  they  were  playing  tennis, 
it  was  almost  impossible  to  ignore  our  neighbours. 
It  became  the  custom  for  us  to  look  on  from  the 
seclusion  of  the  ivy  at  the  top  of  the  wall  and  tell 
each  other  that  it  really  was  too  funny.  And 
once  an  adventurous  pupil  actually  "  had  the 
cheek  "  to  scale  the  wall  from  the  far  side  and 
make  her  way  into  our  summer-house  !  That 
was  an  amazing  discovery  and  we  were  completely 
at  a  loss  what  to  make  of  it.  We  held  no  dealings 
with  her  at  all  and  after  an  earnest  and  prolonged 
council  of  war  it  was  decided  that  it  would  be 
best  to  hush  the  thing  up  and  say  nothing  about 


The  Phases  of  Olinda  Ji 

it  to  anyone.  We  were  very  thankful  that  it 
never  happened  again,  for  to  tell  the  truth  it  was 
just  the  sort  of  thing  that  one  didn't  quite  know 
how  to  take. 

I  have  never  known  what  was  the  outcome  of 
that  school — whether  it  had  prospered  so  greatly 
as  to  move  on  to  higher  spheres,  or  declined  to  an 
ultimate  collapse.  But  as  far  as  we  were  con- 
cerned it  came  to  an  end.  And  OHnda  stood 
empty. 

As  the  months  ran  on  what  was  left  of  the  garden 
— for  it  had  been  heavily  shorn  by  this  time — 
became  for  us  a  strange  and  eerie  retreat,  where 
we  could  find  that  absolute  seclusion  which  was 
always  dear  to  us.  It  was  surrounded  now  by  a 
close  wooden  fence,  so  that  no  peering  eye  could 
penetrate  within.  The  weeds  came  out  like  a 
rash  upon  the  drive  and  garden  walks,  the  grass 
grew  high  and  coarse  on  the  borders,  the  ivy 
wandered  far.  A  sparrow  nested  in  the  porch, 
and  a  company  of  mole-hills  occupied  what  re- 
mained of  the  lawn.  One  would  spring  nimbly 
over  the  fence  and  stand  enthralled,  drinking  in 
that  perfect  desolation.  Then  came  the  day  when, 
greatly  daring,  we  prised  open  the  kitchen  window 


J  2  Days  of  Discovery 

and  plunged  into  the  dank  recesses  of  the  house 
itself. 

Timorously  we  penetrated  one  by  one  the 
shuttered  rooms,  sweeping  black  dust  off  the 
mantelpieces  and  tearing  down  great  strips  of 
flapping  wallpaper  :  turning  on  taps  that  would 
not  run  and  (splendid  moment  !)  ringing  bells 
that  resounded  startlingly  through  the  waste  of 
emptiness.  We  learned  much  that  day  of  the 
infinite  variety  that  exists  in  the  ordering  of 
human  affairs ;  of  the  unsuspected  possibilities 
that  lurk  in  the  most  straightforward  concerns. 
For  we  were  staggered  by  the  discovery  that  what 
should  have  been  the  "  old  night  nursery  "  was 
in  fact  the  drawing-room  :  that  positively  a 
billiard-table  had  occupied  what  should  have 
been  the  laundry.  That  opened  our  eyes.  And, 
furthermore,  there  was  no  sign  at  all  of  a  linen- 
press  where  it  should  have  stood  upon  the  upper 
landing. 

I  do  not  care  to  dwell  on  the  last  phase,  when 
Olinda  became  a  working-man's  club,  tottering 
to  bankruptcy. 

When  last  I  saw  Olinda  the  roof  was  gone  and 
already  a  part  of  the  upper  story  had  been  pulled 
down.     But  I  had  little  room  in  my  heart  for 


The  Phases  of  Olinda  73 

sentimental  regrets.  For  a  far  greater  tragedy 
was  in  train  next  door,  where  her  proud  neighbour 
(which  concerned  me  much  more  closely)  was 
being  still  more  rapidly  demolished. 


THE  FIREWORK  SEASON 

The  actual  blaze  of  glory  on  the  night  of  Novem- 
ber Fifth,  while  it  formed  a  memorable  and  wholly 
adequate  climax  to  the  campaign,  did  not  by 
any  means  represent  all  the  joys  of  the  firework 
season.  The  fun  began  weeks  before,  on  the  very 
day  when  eager  watchers  could  report  the  first 
appearance  in  shop  windows  of  these  splendid 
wares.  Then  was  there  held  forthwith  a  solemn 
conclave,  in  which  financial  resources  were  care- 
fully assessed.  The  amount  in  hand  was  always 
disappointing,  but  one  gladly  reckoned  in,  on  a 
generous  and  extravagant  computation,  such  sums 
from  various  quarters  as  might  be  expected  to 
fall  due  before  the  day.  It  was  largely  a  matter 
of  chance — so  small  was  one's  regular  income  in 
the  face  of  great  emergencies  like  this.  If  a 
"  likely  uncle,"  for  instance,  put  off  his  pro- 
jected visit  till  later  in  the  month,  the  whole 
scale  of  prospective  investments  had  to  be  re- 

74 


The  Firework  Season  75 

luctantly  revised.  But  when  sufficient  funds 
could  not  be  earned  by  any  of  the  recognised 
emergency  methods — by  walking  instead  of  taking 
the  tram,  by  learning  poetry  or  by  copying  out 
the  washing  list — there  was  always  a  chance  that 
a  unanimous  and  influential  petition  might  loose 
the  purse-strings  of  those  remote  and  unattain- 
able Money-boxes  which  stood  aloof,  hoarding 
their  dead  capital,  on  the  top  shelf  of  the  library 
cabinet.  In  one  year  of  distressing  penury  that  I 
remember  a  special  subsidy  of  no  less  than  two 
shillings  a  head  was  granted,  but  in  set  terms  that 
implied  no  liability  in  years  to  come. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  money  was  saved 
up  until  the  approach  of  the  great  day  ;  that 
would  have  been  to  lose  half  the  delight  of  the 
firework  season.  At  the  first  possible  moment 
buying  began.  Indeed  I  have  no  doubt  at  all 
that  it  would  have  begun  in  July  had  oppor- 
tunity offered.  For  the  whole  of  those  weeks 
one's  wealth  was  being  instantly  converted  into 
terms  of  fireworks — one  was  steadily  accumulat- 
ing stock.  For  that  most  glorious  instrument 
the  firework  is  but  little  understood  by  those  who 
look  only  at  its  capabilities  in  the  moment  of 
explosion.    There  is  much  more  to  be  got  out  of 


76  Days  of  Discovery 

it  than  that.  It  is  not  only  to  be  let  off  ;  it  is  to 
be  handled,  bartered  and  exchanged,  lovingly  con- 
templated. It  is  to  be  for  several  weeks  the  first 
thought  in  the  morning  and  the  last  thought  at 
night.  The  very  feel  of  it  is  almost  worth  the 
money,  and  it  becomes  more  dear  as  time  goes 
on,  by  reason  of  continued  self-denial.  For  every 
moment  of  its  existence  it  presents  a  strong 
temptation  to  its  owner,  and  by  resisting  it  one 
comes  to  love  it  more.  In  truth  there  is  almost 
an  element  of  sadness  in  the  moment  of  its 
realization.  Even  though  it  may  fulfil  one's 
highest  hopes  with  a  bang  more  loud  or  a  flare 
more  gorgeous  than  one  had  looked  for,  one 
cannot  quite  forget  that  it  is  its  death  struggle, 
its  swan  song.  One  cannot  look  upon  its  warm, 
blackened,  empty  remains  without  a  poignant 
moment  of  regret.  It  had  been  so  good  a  fire- 
work in  its  day ! 

I  do  not  know  who  it  was  that  invented  the 
great  system  of  trading  in  fireworks  by  exchange 
and  barter.  But  every  evening  early  in  November 
the  schoolroom  after  tea  became  an  active  mart, 
when  everyone  set  out  his  box  in  its  appointed 
place  on  the  long  table  and  worked  to  adjust  the 
balance  between  the  different  items  of  his  stock 


The  Firework  Season  jj 

by  trading  with  his  neighbour.  It  was  very  in- 
structive, after  several  active  sessions,  to  assess 
the  value  of  what  remained — in  cash — and  see 
how  one  had  fared  in  these  transactions.  But 
when  money  was  all  exhausted  and  there  was  no 
longer  a  prospect  of  being  flooded  with  new 
supplies  all  manner  of  fictitious  values  would  be 
in  vogue.  One  bold  buyer  perhaps  has  cornered 
the  supply  of  Blue  Devils,  without  which  no 
assortment  was  complete.  I  have  even  known  a 
penny  Starlight,  when  that  grade  was  in  special 
demand,  go  for  three  halfpenny  Golden  Rains, 
with  half  a  dozen  Chinese  Crackers  thrown  in. 

I  have  a  vivid  recollection  of  the  personality  of 
each  separate  squib  in  all  that  multiform  array. 
I  was  not  a  great  admirer  of  Blue  Devils,  though 
one  must,  of  course,  show  one's  skill  in  throwing 
them  at  the  right  moment  so  that  they  burst  in 
the  air  ;  and  it  always  seemed  to  me  that  Golden 
Rain  (though  much  prized  by  some)  was  rather  a 
weak-kneed  and  effeminate  performer.  But  Star- 
light and  Portfires  were  noble,  and  I  always  had  a 
sort  of  lurking  affection  (not  shared  by  my  com- 
petitors) for  that  strange  mongrel,  the  Flowerpot. 
Pin  Wheels  were  of  little  use,  unless  one  adopted 
the  ingenious  method  of  unwrapping  them  and 


yS  Days  of  Discovery 

straightening  them  out.  Ripraps  were  often  dis- 
appointing in  action — but  how  splendid  in  their 
shape  and  form  !  Even  Chinese  Crackers  were 
not  to  be  despised,  for  there  was  a  way  of  pinch- 
ing them  by  which  (if  you  were  adroit)  you  could 
let  them  explode  in  your  hand — to  the  admiration 
of  younger  brothers — and  suffer  nothing.  As  to 
Prince  of  Wales's  Feathers,  I  can  only  say  that  in 
my  opinion  any  denomination  of  this  variety 
below  the  penny  is  unsatisfactory.  If  you  don't 
keep  shaking  the  powder  down  it  stutters. 

And  so  the  great  day  came,  and  after  a  last 
excited  session  the  market  ceased  its  operations. 
Then  followed  the  bonfire  in  the  kitchen  garden 
and  Guy  Fawkes.  And  then  on  the  dark  lawn 
before  the  house,  where  the  step-ladder  and  the 
rocket-stake  and  the  great  flowerpot  were  already 
assembled,  the  proper  rites  began.  One  could 
look  up  with  a  depth  of  sympathy  to  the  assem- 
bled faces  at  the  upstairs  window  of  those  who 
had  been  deemed  too  young  or  too  frail  to  take  an 
active  part.  And  for  one  hour  one  ran  wild  in 
fairyland,  mid  ravishing  delights  of  eye  and  nose 
and  ear.  For  I  doubt  if  there  be  anything  much 
better  about  a  firework  than  the  smell  of  it  in 
action.    There  followed  the  dressing  of  wounds, 


"The  Firework  Season  79 

for  probably  none  of  us  came  off  unscathed  ;  and 
in  the  morning  that  sad  fascinating  hour  when  one 
explored  in  detail  every  portion  of  the  battlefield, 
seeking  relics.  Here  was  where  the  first  rocket 
fell  (for  I  heard  the  stick  among  the  trees).  Here 
was  all  that  was  left  of  my  fourpenny  Riprap, 
blown  out  and  rent  and  blackened.  And  here 
among  the  bushes  was  the  battered  corpse  of 
Jack-in-the-Box  himself. 


XI 

SECRETS 

Secrets — that  is  to  say,  admitted  secrets,  which 
were  whispered,  treasured,  and  shared  in  holes 
and  corners — ^were,  of  course,  rather  an  affair  for 
girls,  and  therefore  held  in  fine  contempt  by  the 
male  section  of  the  nursery.  None  the  less,  we 
were  ourselves  base  enough,  while  maintaining 
this  outward  attitude,  to  borrow  the  idea  in  all 
its  substance  save  the  name.  There  were  a  few 
cases  of  rare  harmony  when  a  secret  was  shared 
by  the  whole  company,  though  always  with  some 
unworthy  suspicion  that  one's  little  sister  would 
sooner  or  later  give  it  away.  To  this  order  be- 
longed the  splendid  experiences  connected  with 
tips  from  benevolent  relatives.  For  while  a  grand- 
mother or  an  aunt  would  seldom  make  any 
restrictions  or  conditions,  an  uncle  was  quite 
certain  to  accompany  the  contribution  with  a 
direct  injunction  to  keep  it  dark.  Not  that  that 
was  necessary,  as  we  should  undoubtedly  have 

80 


Secrets  8 1 


kept  it  dark  in  any  case,  for  fear  this  sudden 
wealth  should  be  impounded.  But  even  had 
there  been  no  possibility  of  interference  much  of 
the  zest  would  have  gone  out  of  the  traffic  in 
tips  had  it  not  been  conducted  surreptitiously  by 
both  parties.  One  would  have  lost  that  intense 
excitement  with  which  one  came  to  regard  the 
departing  guest.  As  it  was,  there  were  even 
moments  on  the  doorstep  when  it  was  obvious 
to  our  expert  intelligence  that  he  was  looking 
round  with  some  embarrassment  for  opportunity 
and  we  must  come  to  his  aid,  perhaps  by  following 
him  into  the  cab  at  the  last  moment  with  a  for- 
gotten razor  strop — retained  for  the  purpose — 
or  by  sending  one  of  our  number  to  see  him  off  at 
the  station. 

The  keeping  of  a  secret  entailed  an  exceedingly 
complex  line  of  conduct.  It  must  be  accom- 
panied by  a  series  of  hints  (not  overdone  by  any 
means — that  was  where  the  younger  members 
came  to  grief),  by  vague  allusions,  by  an  expres- 
sion of  mysterious  superiority,  by  daring  challenges 
of  open  defiance,  while  those  who  were  outside — 
what  one  might  call  the  attacking  party — passed 
through  stages  of  sublime  indifference  (a  very 
safe  card,  could  one  but  have  kept  it  up),  of  con- 


82  Days  of  Discovery 

ciliation  and  appeal,  and  of  outraged  hostility, 
threatening  reprisals.  The  value  of  a  secret  did 
not  consist  at  all  in  its  intrinsic  importance,  for 
whatever  that  might  have  been  it  v^as  certain, 
when  finally  exploded,  to  be  contemptuously  dis- 
missed with  the  chilly  query,  "  Is  that  all  ?  "  It 
consisted  entirely  in  the  handling  of  it,  the  skill 
with  which  it  was  kept  in  the  foreground,  the 
length  of  its  course  and,  above  all,  in  retaining 
it  in  as  few  hands  as  possible.  For  its  power 
became  slowly  dissipated  as  one  after  another 
learned  the  truth.  It  was  never  considered 
sporting  to  leave  a  single  member  out  in  the  cold, 
which  seems  to  show  that  even  in  this  heartless 
warfare  there  were  some  elements  of  mercy. 

For  it  was  warfare  pure  and  simple.  When 
you  had  been  restrained  from  settling  a  dispute 
by  assault  and  battery,  and  the  desire  to  score  off 
your  adversary  called  for  some  other  means,  no 
handier  or  more  effective  weapon  than  the  secret 
could  have  been  desired.  You  could  not  at  the 
moment  punch  his  head,  but  you  could  always 
arouse  his  curiosity,  work  upon  his  inquisitiveness, 
and  by  taking  in  an  ally  (who  would  express  the 
most  profound  interest  in  your  communication) 
make  him  feel  before  the  day  was  out  that  until 


Secrets  83 


he  knew  where  it  was  that  you  had  been  that 
afternoon  (when  you  came  in  so  cautiously  by 
the  stable  door)  life  was  not  worth  living.  Simply 
anything  would  do  provided  it  was  properly 
handled.  If  a  familiar  picture  had  disappeared 
from  the  nursery  wall,  and  he  was  given  to  under- 
stand that  you  could  explain  its  removal  if  you 
would  ;  if  he  had  overheard  you  shouting  down 
to  someone  below  from  the  bathroom  window  and 
you  had  closed  it  and  turned  away  when  he  came 
in ;  if  you  took  to  carrying  with  you  wherever 
you  went  a  small  brown-paper  parcel  of  alluring 
shape,  refusing  to  vouchsafe  a  reason — it  was 
enough  ;  you  had  your  revenge.  Of  course,  you 
must  take  certain  risks  in  pursuit  of  this  high  end. 
If  he  found  out,  you  knew  yourself  to  be  routed, 
disgraced,  reduced  to  a  laughing-stock,  while  he 
would  triumph  gloatingly. 

However,  there  were  reprisals.  The  recog- 
nized retort  when  a  secret  was  in  active  operation 
against  one  was  to  start  a  secret  of  one's  own. 
This  was  uphill  work.  For  it  was  always  tacitly 
assumed  that  a  secret  was  accidental  in  its  origin, 
and  here  the  mechanism  was  a  little  too  obvious. 
And  thus  the  counter-secret,  if  I  may  so  call  it, 
was  certain  to  be  met  at  the  outset  with  scorn,  as 


84  Days  of  Discovery 

having  been  invented  by  you  "  because  you 
couldn't  find  out  about  mine  " — v^hich,  of  course, 
it  was.  Still,  if  it  was  a  good  secret  in  itself  it 
would  begin  to  bite  after  a  time.  Even  if  I  had 
no  burning  desire  to  solve  it  (which  I  probably 
had)  I  could  not  but  admit  that  it  had  begun  to 
sap  the  strength  of  my  own  effort.  And  so  the 
situation  would  frequently  ripen  into  an  armistice 
and  an  exchange.  And  then  it  only  remained  for 
each  competitor  to  greet  with  withering  scorn 
the  revelation  of  the  other,  and  to  declare  that 
if  he  had  known  that  yours  was  as  rotten  as  that 
he  would  never  have  divulged  his  own.  And  there 
the  incident  would  close. 

The  other  method  by  which  secrets  would 
come  to  an  end — for  they  were  never  of  long 
duration — was  by  the  process  of  gradual  dilution. 
There  was  no  secret  as  strong  as  that  which  was 
held  by  one  alone,  provided  that  it  was  skilfully 
worked.  The  greatest  success  of  my  life  in  this 
regard  was  an  occasion  when  I  defied  the  attack 
of  a  united  host  on  the  question  as  to  why  it 
was  that  Uncle  John  had  called  me  downstairs 
in  the  middle  of  nursery  tea — me  alone — to 
speak  to  him  in  the  library.  I  saw  at  a  glance 
the  exceptional  value  of  this  incident  as  a  secret, 


Secrets  85 


and  I  held  to  it  grimly  for  two  whole  days, 
during  which  I  wielded  real  power.  But  they 
were  lonely  days.  On  the  third  afternoon  I 
could  stand  it  no  longer,  and  I  took  a  partner 
into  the  concern.  It  was  worth  a  good  deal 
even  after  that,  but  when — to  gain  a  definite 
ulterior  end — I  had  taken  in  a  third  the  game 
was  already  up. 

Then  it  had  become  common  property  (to  the 
intense  disappointment  of  the  whole  assembly) 
that  Uncle  John  had  not  wished  to  ask  me  to 
stay  with  him  in  Ireland  in  the  summer  holidays 
(as  had  been  feared),  nor  to  suggest  that  he 
should  subscribe  to  the  fund  for  a  new  football 
(as  had  been  hoped),  nor  yet  to  inform  me  of  a 
proposed  legacy  (my  sister's  solution).  He  had 
only  wanted  to  know  if  I  happened  to  have 
picked  up  his  pipe  on  the  tennis  lawn. 


XII 

VARIATIONS  ON  A  THEME 

There  is  a  story  told  of  one  of  our  company  in 
the  nursery  that  on  an  occasion  when  he  was  at 
a  tea-party  he  took  aside  a  chosen  ally  into  a  safe 
corner  remote  from  the  festivities  to  impart  to 
him  a  sacred  confidence.  With  every  appearance 
of  mystery  and  a  full  regard  to  the  weight  of  his 
disclosure  he  bound  his  companion  to  secrecy, 
and  the  great  intelligence  broke  from  him  in  a 
dramatic  whisper.  "  I'm  an  author  !  "  he  said. 
And  I  have  every  reason  to  believe  that  the 
other  was  very  much  impressed. 

But  the  author  in  question  was  not  by  any 
means  the  only  one.  That  was  a  summer  of 
extraordinary  literary  activity.  The  telling  of 
stories  in  one  form  or  another  had,  of  course, 
flourished  from  the  very  beginning  of  things. 
There  was  a  time  when  Archie,  who  had  a  wonder- 
ful faculty  for  fluent  and  meaningless  romance, 
and  an  amazing  ability  for  reproducing  startling 

86 


Variations  on  a   Theme  87 

words  and  phrases,  used  to  regale  my  sister, 
behind  the  curtains,  with  his  perennial  serial, 
"  The  Adventures  of  a  Lion."  My  sister  was 
enormously  impressed  by  this  narrative,  as, 
indeed,  were  we  all  in  some  degree,  though  we 
would  never  have  confessed  it.  She  filled  in  the 
frequent  pauses  with  interjected  murmurs  of 
gurgling  admiration,  and  the  effect  partook  of 
the  nature  of  a  duet.  Whenever  we  stopped  to 
listen  we  would  hear  something  like  the  follow- 
ing :— 

"  And  so  the  Lion  swallowed  him  up,  every 
bit  .  .  ." 

"  Oo !  " 

"  But  he  had  a  pair  of  scissors  in  his  pocket . . ." 

"  Ooo  !  " 

"  And  he  cut  a  hole  and  got  out  .  .  ." 

"Ooooo!" 

"  And  then  there  came  an  Albatross  .  .  ." 

"Ooo!    Oooo!" 

But  it  was  not  until  the  advent  of  the  school 
story  that  we  became  absorbed  in  the  splendid 
possibiHties  of  fiction.  It  was  then  that  the 
second  great  serial  started  on  its  long  career. 
This  time  I  was  myself  the  victim,  the  recipient ; 
and  the  teller  was  Colin,  my  next  older  brother. 


88  Days  of  Discovery 

It  was  a  profound  secret  between  us  two,  and  for 
many  months  nearly  all  the  spare  time  that  we 
spent  together  was  devoted  to  it.  I  cannot 
remember  that  it  had  any  name,  but  it  dealt 
almost  exclusively  with  the  adventures  of  one 
Eastham,  a  schoolboy.  I  fear  that  most  of  the 
details  of  this  romance  are  now  lost  to  me,  but 
I  seem  to  remember  that  while  the  hero  passed 
through  a  long  series  of  exciting  situations  these 
were  remarkably  narrow  in  their  scope,  being 
confined  indeed  to  two  classes  only — cricket 
matches,  of  which  there  was  at  least  one  in  every 
instalment,  and  dark  dealings  with  bookmakers 
"  in  the  town."  So  deeply  engrossed  did  I 
become  and  so  urgent  were  my  demands  for  more 
that  the  teller  of  the  tale  began  to  put  on  airs. 
Eastham  was  no  longer  dealt  out  with  lavish  hand 
and  on  every  suitable  opportunity  ;  he  became 
by  degrees  an  occasional  favour,  then  a  special, 
rare  concession.  And  his  author  found  that  he 
had  established — that  which  we  were  always  on 
the  look-out  for  in  all  our  dealings — a  hold  over 
me.  He  would  threaten  to  tell  me  no  more 
unless  I  became  his  willing  slave,  and  I  abjectly 
consented,  for  I  could  not  live  at  all  without 
my    Eastham.     The    thing    became    a    flagrant 


Variations  on  a   Theme  89 

tyranny,  for  when  Colin  found  he  could  not 
convey  his  demands  to  me  in  the  presence  of 
other  people  he  laid  down  a  certain  signal  be- 
tween us  that  should  mean  "  If  you  don't  do  it 
at  once  there  will  be  no  more  of  Eastham."  He 
had  but  to  raise  the  first  and  third  fingers  of  his 
hand,  while  holding  down  the  middle  one,  and  I 
knew  my  fate,  and  carried  out  his  behest  forth- 
with. Well  do  I  remember  those  two  dread 
fingers  with  their  crushing  message.  I  knew  my- 
self to  be  helpless  before  them,  until  at  last  there 
came  a  day  when  I  rebelled.  He  had  left  his  cap 
in  the  stable  and  I  must  go  and  fetch  it.  I 
refused.  Up  went  the  two  fingers.  It  came 
home  to  me  that  I  was  paying  too  great  a  price 
even  for  Eastham,  and  I  would  not  go.  And 
then  I  made  the  surprising  discovery  which  showed 
me  that  had  I  had  more  spirit  I  need  never  have 
borne  the  yoke.  For  Eastham  still  went  on — 
that  very  evening  he  made  93  not  out  against 
All  England.  Then  I  saw  that  Eastham  was  quite 
as  necessary  to  Colin  as  he  was  to  me.  The  tables 
were  turned.  It  was  I  who  could  now  afford  to 
be  an  indifferent  listener — to  all  appearance.  At 
the  last  I  could  dictate  the  occasions  when  I 
would  consent  to  listen.     It  might  even  have 


go  Days  of  Discovery 

reached  a  point  where  it  was  I  who  could  signal 
(with  upheld  fingers)  my  commands.  But  East- 
ham  underwent  a  sudden  change. 

The  telling  of  tales  as  an  occupation  was  super- 
seded by  a  new  and  more  splendid  achievement 
— that  of  writing  them.  It  was  my  sister  who 
quite  unwittingly  set  the  new  fashion.  She  an- 
nounced her  intention  of  copying  out  the  whole 
of  Jhe  Mill  on  the  Floss^  and  could  already 
show  the  first  few  sentences  laboriously  trans- 
cribed in  enormous,  staggering  print.  Well  do  I 
remember  her  joy  when  some  facetious  Grown- 
up offered  her  five  shillings  for  each  completed 
chapter.  But  although  she  never  reached  the 
bottom  of  the  page  she  had  suggested  a  far 
more  glorious  undertaking — original  composition. 
Within  a  week  there  was  not  one  of  us  but  had 
his  small  black  book  in  active  operation.  They 
were,  of  course,  all  school  stories,  and  they  all 
dealt  in  Eastham,  or  at  least  he  figured  in  all  of 
them.  His  original  author  really  could  not 
make  up  his  mind  whether  to  regard  this  universal 
plagiarism  in  the  light  of  flattery  or  to  be  in- 
dignant that  the  rest  of  us  had  "  bagged  "  his 
hero.  In  most  cases  the  stories  were  written 
but  mine  was  printed,  for  the  obvious  reason  that 


Variations  on  a   Theme  91 

it  was  much  more  like  a  real  book.  I  got  on  more 
slowly  than  the  others  on  that  account,  and  I 
sometimes  doubt  if,  after  all,  it  was  much  more 
like  a  real  book.    But  it  was  a  great  time. 

Those  in  Authority  look  back  upon  that  period 
of  feverish  activity  (for  we  did  not  like  to  fall 
short  of  an  output  of  a  chapter  a  day)  as  on  a 
sunny  oasis  in  the  endless  struggle  of  our  up- 
bringing. We  were  all  so  **  good,"  so  consistently 
"  out  of  mischief,"  though  a  price  must  be  paid 
for  this  immunity  in  the  increased  vigour  of  the 
contest  that  took  place  at  the  time  when  we  must 
go  to  bed.  The  real  difficulty  was,  where  all, 
vdith  the  exception  of  my  sister,  were  so  actively 
creating,  to  command  an  audience  for  one's  work. 
But  the  rule  was  generally  accepted  that  if  you 
would  listen  to  my  chapter  I  would  listen  to 
yours.  I  cannot  but  believe  that  the  work  would 
have  gained  something  in  originality  had  it  been 
possible  to  get  on  without  this  interchange  of 
ideas.  For  as  it  was,  the  same  incidents,  in  a  more 
or  less  garbled  form  but  without  any  attempt  to 
veil  their  identity,  occurred  with  perfect  regularity 
in  all  four  works.  When  Eastham  tripped  up 
the  policeman,  as  recorded  by  myself,  the  three 
other  writers'  chapters  of  the  following  day  would 


92  Days  of  Discovery 

find  their  inspiration  in  that  episode,  and  when — 
as  recorded  by  my  eldest  brother — he  caught  his 
friend  Leach  stealing  money  from  the  coats  at 
the  cricket  field  the  rest  of  us  could  hardly  wait 
till  the  chapter  was  concluded  before  seizing 
book  and  pencil  to  catch  that  fine  impression  ere 
it  fled. 

The  volumes  are  no  longer  in  existence.  No 
doubt  as  soon  as  some  new  interest  had  taken  their 
place  they  were  treated  with  a  contempt  which  I 
cannot  quite  believe  that  they  deserved.  And  I 
have  but  the  vaguest  memories  of  the  results  of 
all  that  keen  endeavour.  But  at  least  I  can  recall 
the  opening  words  of  my  first  chapter,  which 
would  seem  to  show  that,  despite  one's  deep  pre- 
occupation with  the  game  of  cricket,  one  had  not 
quite  grasped  all  the  complexity  of  its  technique  : 

"  Eastham  was  a  very  good  bat.  He  could 
make  79  runs.  Leach  could  only  make  23  runs. 
Thomson  could  make  38,  and  Milton  about  16." 


XIII 

MAKING  MONEY 

The  financial  resources  of  the  Nursery  were 
sharply  divided  into  two  classes.  We  all  possessed 
two  sorts  of  money — that  which  was  readily 
negotiable  and  that  which  was  sternly  withheld. 
We  suffered  from  a  disability  (which  is  apt  to 
pursue  one  even  in  later  life)  in  having  our  funds 
"  tied  up,"  so  that  we  could  by  no  means  lay  our 
hands  on  them.  This  was  chiefly  brought  about 
by  the  hated  institution  of  Money-boxes.  There 
they  were  in  a  row  on  the  top  shelf  of  the  library, 
handsomely  fashioned  in  artistic  forms,  after  the 
style  of  castles,  ships,  or  cricket-balls — mine  was 
like  a  small  portmanteau,  clasped  at  the  corners 
with  brass.  But  one  feature  they  all  had  in 
common — a  slot  in  the  lid  shaped  with  such 
unholy  ingenuity  that  no  amount  of  patient 
shaking  upside  down  could  possibly  recover  the 
deposit.  I  do  not  say  that  they  were  never  un- 
locked.    On  the  approach  of  a  birthday  or  at 

93 


94  Days  of  Discovery 

Christmas  time  and  on  certain  outstanding  occa- 
sions it  was  possible  to  draw  upon  them.  But 
that  meant  an  appeal  to  Those  in  Authority,  the 
stating  of  a  case,  all  manner  of  formality  before 
the  key  would  be  brought  forth.  You  could  not 
dip  into  them  at  will  at  any  moment  when  you 
wanted  to  buy  things.  No  matter  what  hoarded 
riches  they  might  contain — and  they  had  been 
known  to  run  up  to  two  or  three  pounds ! — they 
gave  one  no  sense  whatever  of  possession,  and  one 
would  gladly  at  any  time  have  sold  the  whole, 
had  it  been  permissible,  for  a  free  half-crown. 

The  sources  of  supply,  by  which  these  exasper- 
ating institutions  were  fed,  were  various.  It  had 
been  intended  in  the  beginning  that  they  should 
be  supported  by  contributions  under  two  head- 
ings, the  compulsory  and  the  voluntary.  If  we 
ever  wished  to  put  in  any  money  in  addition  to 
that  which  was  prescribed,  we  should  be  heartily 
encouraged  to  do  so.  But  the  voluntary  clauses 
of  the  act  broke  down  completely,  and  the  com- 
pulsory clauses  were  only  enforced  under  the 
most  violent  protest.  Windfalls  of  all  sorts  were 
apt  to  be  impounded  whenever  they  reached  too 
high  a  figure.  It  was  no  use  at  all  to  get  a  birth- 
day present  of  half  a  sovereign,  for  that  was  sure 


taking  £Money  95 

to  go.  And  the  whole  traffic  in  tips  from  benevo- 
lent uncles  was  given  an  added  zest  and  interest 
from  the  fact  that  the  shadow  of  the  Money-box 
hung  over  it  and  it  must  be  handled  with  the 
utmost  care  and  secrecy. 

But  when  we  thought  or  spoke  of  money  we 
never  meant  what  was  referred  to  with  a  fine 
contempt  as  "  Money-box  money."  It  was  the 
real  thing  that  we  meant,  which  came  and  went 
by  methods  under  our  direct  control.  As  a  matter 
of  fact  the  interest  in  money,  like  other  nursery 
interests,  fluctuated  wildly.  For  weeks  one  would 
be  cheerfully  bankrupt  and  entirely  wrapped  up 
in  less  mercenary  affairs,  forgetting  even  to  ob- 
serve when  the  first  day  of  the  month  came  round. 
At  other  times  by  every  plot  and  plan,  by  every 
effort  of  concentrated  ingenuity  would  one  strive 
to  attain  a  decent  competence.  This  was  nearly 
always  brought  about  by  some  special  call.  It 
was  no  use  going  out  of  one's  way  to  amass  wealth 
without  a  definite  object  to  which  to  devote  it. 
But  let  us  suppose  one  had  seen  a  truly  gorgeous 
steam-engine  that  would  go  in  a  shop,  or  a  new 
sort  of  telescope  that  pulled  out  to  five  times  its 
normal  length  instead  of  three  ;  then  a  deter- 
mined effort  must  be  made.    And  there  was  that 


g6  Days  of  Discovery 

advertisement  of  a  real  printing  press  in  The 
Boy^s  Own  Paper.  And  that  complete  Magic 
Lantern  that  could  be  worked  with  a  night-light 
— and  talking  of  lanterns  what  about  Bull's-eye 
lanterns  ?  Thus  on  occasion  the  possibilities  of 
this  glorious  world  would  present  themselves, 
tumbling  over  one  another  in  a  sort  of  mental 
cataract,  and  in  a  moment  one  was  awake  to  the 
instant  need  of  money — Cheaps  of  money. 

The  official  pocket-money  was  only  regarded 
as  a  sort  of  minimum  wage.  It  was  no  use  saving 
it.  That  system  had  been  given  a  fair  trial  on 
more  than  one  occasion  and  abandoned  in  dis- 
gust. It  called  for  an  enormous  amount  of  self- 
denial  with  a  miserably  inadequate  return.  No 
one  would  dream  of  depending  upon  pocket- 
money  for  any  of  the  larger  ends  of  life.  But 
there  were  tips  which  sometimes  came  oppor- 
tunely and  there  were  a  dozen  other  sources  of 
supply.  The  most  obvious  of  these  was  to  walk 
and  save  the  penny  for  your  tram  fare  ;  and  if 
Old  John  Gardener  was  in  charge  of  you,  you 
could  make  him  walk  and  save  his  penny  too. 
And  there  were  a  good  many  promiscuous  odd 
jobs  by  which  one's  income  could  be  increased 
in  one's  spare  time,  in  the  words  of  the  popular 


£Making  ^Money  97 

advertisements.  Twopence  was  the  usual  tariff 
for  copying  the  washing  list,  and  sometimes  there 
were  envelopes  to  address  or  newspaper  wrappers, 
which  paid  pretty  well.  But  that  was  close  and 
wearing  work  and  one  ran  the  risk  of  having  the 
whole  batch  rejected  on  some  miserable  plea  of 
speUing  or  handwriting. 

Far  more  profitable  was  the  learning  of  poetry 
which  was  really  paid  for,  as  far  as  I  can  remember, 
at  a  fairly  Hberal  rate.  Anyway  I  got  half  a  crown 
for  the  Pied  Piper,  I  know  very  well  that  I  am 
quite  incapable  of  such  a  feat  now  (even  for 
twice  the  money)  but  I  remember  almost  every 
word  of  it  to  this  day.  A  good  many  uncles  and 
aunts  were  involved  in  this  poetry  business,  and 
it  would  have  been  lucrative  had  one  been  able  to 
develop  the  practice  of  disposing  of  the  same 
wares  in  more  than  one  market.  But  when  I  was 
discovered  selling  Tennyson's  Revenge  for  the 
third  time  in  one  week  this  method  of  expansion 
was  put  a  stop  to.  Still  some  tidy  sums  were 
accumulated  in  this  way,  and  at  last  the  steam- 
engine  was  made  possible. 

As  I  look  back  upon  all  that  period  of  stern 
endeavour  and  dogged  labour  towards  a  given 
end,  one  occasion  stands  out  luridly — one  bright 

G 


98  Days  of  Discovery 

occasion  when  I  "  got  rich  quick."  It  was  all 
very  wrong,  of  course.  He  was  a  boy  who  came 
with  some  callers  and  I  know  now  that  he  must 
have  been  both  astoundingly  wicked  and  amaz- 
ingly rich.  For  he  took  me  away  to  the  shrubbery 
behind  the  stable  and  tossed  me  for  sixpences. 
It  so  happened  that  the  summons  came  for  his 
return — the  carriage  was  waiting — when,  after  a 
fine  run  of  luck  I  was  four  and  sixpence  up,  so  I 
came  very  well  out  of  that  adventure.  But  he 
didn't  care.  It  was  all  the  same  to  him  !  He 
was  indeed  a  tremendous  fellow. 

And  then  there  was  the  great  Dandelion  Cam- 
paign. It  was  I  myself  who  thought  of  that.  I 
had  so  often  heard  complaints  of  the  state  of  the 
lawn,  and  I  volunteered  to  uproot  the  dandelions, 
at,  I  think,  threepence  a  hundred.  Within  a  few 
days  every  juvenile  member  of  the  household, 
each  armed  with  an  out- worn  table-knife,  was  at 
work  upon  his  hands  and  knees,  crawling  hither 
and  thither,  prodding  and  levering  up  the  spoil. 
And  in  the  evenings  the  harvest  was  counted  and 
paid  for,  and  knives  were  sharpened  against  the 
morrow.  Had  we  but  been  content  with  the 
conditions  a  steady  income  for  the  summer  might 
have  been  assured.     For  after  the  stock  ran  out 


£M[aki77g  Siloney  99 

were  there  not  plantains  and  daisies  ?  But  we 
became  too  skilful.  Sidney  contrived  to  invent 
a  new  tool,  with  a  long  handle  and  two  sharp 
prongs,  which  traversed  the  lawn  with  devastating 
effect,  and  when  after  a  busy  undisturbed  half- 
holiday  we  marched  in,  in  force,  soil-stained  and 
weary,  our  weapons  over  our  shoulders  and  our 
booty  in  a  sack,  and  demanded  Twelve  Shillings 
and  Sevenpence  at  a  single  scoop  it  was  at  once 
declared  that  the  thing  had  got  completely  out 
of  hand. 


XIV 

THE  HOTEL 

When  I  observe  the  blase  children  of  globe- 
trotting parents,  complacently  sauntering  in  to 
table  d^hote,  giving  orders  unabashed  to  waiters, 
lolling  nonchalantly  in  the  lounge,  entering  large, 
silent  public  rooms  without  a  tremor,  sometimes 
a  wave  of  pity  passes  over  me  that  they  should 
so  soon  have  come  to  this — and  never  know  their 
loss.  They  are  simply  suffering  prematurely 
from  the  wretched  disillusionment  of  the  Grown- 
up. They  have  bartered  in  exchange  for  a  swag- 
gering indifference  one  of  the  most  splendid 
experiences  of  childhood.  They  have  lost  all 
appreciation  of  the  supreme  adventure  of  staying 
in  an  Hotel. 

Adventure  was  the  first  aim  and  end  of  those 
golden  years.  To  let  no  one  day  be  like  another, 
to  pack  one's  life  as  full  as  possible  of  thrilling 
experience,  to  break  out  in  a  new  place  whenever 
possible,  was  the  sum  of  one's  persistent  and 

100 


The  Hotel  loi 


conscientious  endeavour.  And  adventure  might 
be  arrived  at  in  a  great  variety  of  ways — by  open 
rebellion,  by  exploring  all  manner  of  hidden 
mysteries,  by  joyously  accepting  and  making  the 
most  of  all  sorts  of  abnormal  conditions  and  unex- 
pected situations  that  might  befall.  But  it 
might  also  be  attained  v^ithout  any  collision 
v^hatever  with  the  forces  of  law  and  order.  For 
there  were  times  when  Those  in  Authority, 
entering  fully  into  the  spirit  of  the  thing,  would 
"  take  us  away,"  for  what  they  called  a  "  treat," 
— a  word  which  we  strongly  resented.  Sometimes 
even  the  suggestion  would  come  from  one  of 
ourselves.  Was  not  I  myself  the  true  author  of 
that  tremendous  expedition  when  we  invaded 
the  Isle  of  Man  in  a  body  ?  But  it  would  never 
have  occurred  to  any  one  of  us  to  suggest  the 
mighty  and  epoch-making  event  that  I  have  now 
to  describe.  That  was  something  altogether  too 
dazzHng  and  remote  ;  and  when  the  tremendous 
truth,  which  had  already  been  dimly  suggested 
by  sundry  hints  and  veiled  innuendoes — after  the 
accepted  style  of  Grown-ups — burst  in  a  moment 
upon  us  we  were  positively  staggered.  It  was 
Archie  who  broke  into  the  nursery  one  evening, 
panting   and   flushed.     "  I've   found  it   out !  " 


I02  Days  of  Discovery 

he    shouted.      "  We're     going    to    stay    in     a 
Hotel !  " 

After  the  first  pandemonium  of  excitement  had 
subsided,  we  settled  down  to  discuss  and  solve 
to  the  best  of  our  ability,  a  question  that  can 
hardly  be  said  to  have  been  impertinent.  What, 
exactly,  was  an  Hotel  ?  We  had  seen  the  outside 
of  them  :  we  had  speculated  idly  upon  their 
interiors  :  and  we  knew  very  well  that  they  were 
much  frequented  by  certain  Grown-ups,  who  had 
no  fixed  place  of  abode.  But  we  knew  no  more 
of  what  to  expect  when  one  had  passed  beyond 
their  portals  than  if  they  had  been  an  enchanted 
garden.  And  then  the  details  of  the  scheme  came 
out.  We  were  to  drive,  it  seemed,  all  of  us,  in 
the  big  wagonette,  with  Tom  Coachman  and 
the  horses.  The  distance  was  not  less  than  twenty 
miles.  We  were  to  come  back  the  following  day  ; 
and  if  it  turned  out  to  be  a  wet  afternoon  the 
expedition  would  have  to  be  put  off.  As  if  that 
mattered  !  That  was  just  the  way  with  Grown- 
ups. They  had  no  sense  of  proportion.  They 
never  understood  what  were  the  vital  elements 
in  an  adventure.  Had  the  distance  been  a 
hundred  miles  through  heavy  sleet,  what  could  it 
matter  with  the  prospect  of  an  Hotel  at  the  end  ? 


The  Hotel  103 


As  it  turned  out  rain  began  to  fall  before  we 
had  got  half-way.  Then  we  were  all  thrown  into 
an  agony  of  suspense.  The  desirability  of  turning 
back  was  calmly  debated  while  we  squirmed  in 
silent  terror  lest  the  cup  be  dashed  from  our 
lips.  We  were  told,  in  the  most  matter-of-fact 
way,  that  if  we  had  to  give  it  up  it  was  only  a 
question  of  postponing  it  for  a  week.  There 
was  no  grain  of  comfort  in  that.  It  was  alto- 
gether beyond  our  power  to  peer  into  an  uncer- 
tain future  as  far  as  next  week.  If  we  turned  back 
all  was  over.  Life  was  desolated.  How  couli  we, 
how  could  we  dream  of  going  back  now — to  the 
same  old  house  and  garden,  to  the  same  old 
nursery  tea,  to  that  intolerably  humdrum  life 
that  is  lived  outside  hotels  ?  .  .  .  And  then  Tom 
Coachman's  hat  blew  off,  and  we  must  stop  and 
I  must  get  out  and  pick  it  up.  That  decided  it. 
I  have  never  clearly  known  why.  And  on  looking 
back  I  cannot  see  how  Tom's  hat  can  possibly 
have  affected  the  issue.  And  yet  we  all  firmly 
believed  that  that  incident  was  the  turning  point. 
Long  after  we  would  refer  to  it  as  a  happy  chance 
that  had  saved  us  in  a  critical  moment.  We 
elevated  it  into  the  outstanding  episode  of  the 
day.     Years   after   we  would  recall  it   to   one 


1 04  Days  of  Discovery 

another  in  grateful  memory.  ..."  Lucky  old 
Tom's  hat  blew  off,  wasn't  it  ?  " 

Anyhow  we  went  on,  and  the  sun  was  shining 
brightly  within  the  hour,  which  of  course  proved 
that  we  were  right. 

While  I  remember  all  about  Tom's  hat,  his 
convulsive  clutch  at  it  as  it  flew,  the  exact  spot 
on  the  left  side  of  the  road  where  I  picked  it  out 
of  a  gorse  bush,  the  side  of  the  carriage  from  which 
I  handed  it  up  to  him,  I  must  now  confess  that  I 
have  but  the  haziest  and  most  unsatisfactory 
recollection  of  what  happened  in  the  hotel.  I 
suppose  that  it  was  all  so  splendid  and  over- 
whelming, that  one  was  in  such  an  exalted  and 
intense  state  of  mind  that  it  passed  as  if  it  had 
been  a  dream.  I  know  that  we  occupied  two 
adjoining  bedrooms,  and  that  Those  in  Authority 
were  some  distance  up  the  passage — which  was  an 
admirable  arrangement.  And  I  can  vouch  for  the 
fact  that  we  put  our  boots  outside  the  door  at 
night,  and  that  one  of  us  in  the  morning  dis- 
covered the  number  of  the  room  chalked  upon 
the  soles  of  them  :  and  it  may  be  added  that  for 
several  weeks  to  come  all  the  boots  at  home  were 
similarly  treated  every  morning  by  Archie,  who 
had  a  love  of  effective  detail.     I  know  that  we 


T/ie  Hotel  105 


locked  our  doors  and  carried  away  the  keys  when 
we  went  down  to  dinner.     (Tremendous  places, 
these  hotels !     You   never   knew  what   sort   of 
blackguards   might   be   about.)     And  when  we 
came  to  compare  notes  at  night  I  had  counted 
six  bathrooms  and  Archie  had  only  found  four. 
But  then  Archie  had  found  the  smoking-room, 
though  he  had  not  dared  to  go  in.    But  I  am  quite 
at  a  loss  as  to  what  we  did,  how  we  spent  the 
evening,    or   what    occurred    on    the    following 
morning.     The  scene  at  dinner  alone  remains 
clear-cut  in  my  memory.     Quaking  we  entered 
that  astounding  apartment  where,  as  it  seemed, 
some  thousands  of  people  were  all  eating  together. 
Many  of  the  handsomest  and  most  effectively 
dressed  of  them  were,  it  is  true,  handing  round 
the  food,  and  one  magnificent  fellow  was  carving 
at  a  side  table.    One  could  hardly  take  one's  eyes 
off  him.    But  that  was  not  all.    The  magic  of  the 
hotel  had  invaded  the  meal  itself.    In  the  long, 
bewildering  succession  of  dishes   (which  had  a 
printed  programme  of  their  own)  we  were  quite 
unable  to  distinguish  our  two  old  friends — the 
dual  ingredients  of  every  normal  dinner — Meat 
and  Pudding.    And  there  was  a  waiter  who  bent 
down  respectfully  and  asked  you  fascinating  con- 


io6  Days  of  Discovery 

undrums  in  some  way  relating  to  the  food.  The 
first  of  these — and  for  my  part  I  gave  it  up — 
was  "  Thick  or  Clear  ?  "  And  he  called  you 
"  Sir  "... 

At  last  we  were  in  bed,  with  no  intention 
whatever  of  frittering  away  historic  hours  in 
sleep.  And  there  was  a  cathedral  clock  that 
chimed  the  quarters.  And  about  the  hour  of 
I  a.m.  we  met  with  a  rude  shock  in  the  shape 
of  one,  who  was  not  content  with  knocking 
at  the  door — not  that  we  would  have  heard  him 
easily — but  actually  put  his  head  into  the  room 
and  told  us  bluntly  that  we  must  make  less  noise 
as  half  the  guests  in  the  passage  had  complained 
to  him.  Archie  thought  he  was  the  Manager, 
but  I  was  not  at  all  sure.  Still  there  can  be  no 
doubt  that  he  was  some  pretty  important  person 
or  he  would  never  have  spoken  to  us  in  that  way. 
Had  it  been  a  waiter  we  were  sure  he  would 
have  said  "  Sir."  And  after  that  there  was  really 
nothing  for  it  but  to  go  to  sleep.  But  my  habit 
of  bolting  my  bedroom  door  in  hotels  when  I 
retire  for  the  night  dates  from  that  evening. 


XV 

SENT  ON  APPLICATION 

It  was  a  great  day  when  we  discovered  the  real 
value  of  newspapers.  Previous  to  that  they  had 
often  been  employed  for  the  making  of  paper 
boats  on  Sunday  afternoons,  and  they  were  at 
times  worn  as  cocked  hats.  There  was  also  a 
method — culled  from  the  pages  of  St.  Nicholas — 
by  which,  through  a  process  of  intricate  foldings 
and  pleatings,  they  could  be  converted  into  large 
ungainly  boxes,  which  swayed  perilously  upon  four 
bandy  legs.  But  we  were  in  no  way  concerned 
with  their  printed  contents ;  we  valued  them 
solely  by  their  quality  as  raw  material.  The 
Times  was  ever  in  great  demand — incomparable 
stuff  for  battleships.  The  Spectator  failed  chiefly 
in  point  of  size  ;  while  some  of  the  evening 
papers,  flimsy  and  easily  torn,  were  classed  as 
useless. 

But  the  reading  of  papers  was  accepted  merely 
107 


io8  Days  of  Discovery 

as  one  of  the  strange  habits  of  Grown-up  Persons, 
interesting  only  in  so  far  as  it  lent  itself  to  parody. 
(It  went  very  well — in  company  with  a  pair  of 
spectacles  made  out  of  lemonade  wire — if  carried 
out  with  pompous  solemnity  after  the  manner 
of  Uncle  Henry.  The  scene  always  culminated 
in  a  start  of  exasperation  in  which  the  paper 
was  crushed  into  a  ball  and  flung  beneath  the 
table  with  violent  words  about  the  Stock  Ex- 
change.) But  at  last  there  came  a  time  when 
the  daily  press  was  eagerly  scanned  by  the  entire 
nursery  with  deliberate  view  to  its  contents,  and 
we  were  able  to  discover  in  this  unpromising 
source  material  for  a  whole  campaign  of  a  most 
productive  and  exciting  nature. 

With  a  view  to  encouraging  the  art  of  letter- 
writing,  which  did  not  flourish  among  us,  we 
had  been  given  permission  to  help  ourselves  to 
stamps  for  all  legitimate  correspondence,  and 
Colin  had  had  the  wit  to  see  in  this  concession 
wide  possibilities  which  had  not  occurred  to  the 
rest  of  us.  Thoughtfully  he  ascended,  with  a 
large  bundle  of  newspapers,  to  the  top  of  the 
nursery  cupboard — a  favourite  haunt  of  his  when 
he  wished  to  meditate  in  remote  seclusion.  There 
he  remained  for  the  entire  morning  and  his  aspect 


Sent  on  Application  109 

and  behaviour  for  the  rest  of  the  day  pointed 
clearly  to  some  secret  project  which  he  was 
hugging  silently.  It  was  not  till  two  days  later 
that  it  burst  upon  us.  He  had  risen,  to  my  great 
surprise,  fully  ten  minutes  before  it  was  abso- 
lutely necessary  and  rushed  downstairs  to  the 
dining-room  while  I  was  still  dressing.  Then  he 
dashed  in  upon  the  nursery  breakfast,  in  the 
middle  of  the  porridge  stage,  glowing  with 
triumph.  With  a  splendid  gesture  he  flung  upon 
the  table  a  long,  bulgy  blue  envelope,  addressed 
(without  a  shadow  of  doubt)  to  himself.  Indeed, 
his  name  was  there  adorned  with  the  high  title 
of  "  Esquire."  What  was  inside  ?  Of  course  he 
must  needs  resort  to  the  barren  and  exasperating 
practice  of  "  making  us  guess,"  while  he  supped 
his  porridge  complacently.  But  at  last  he  broke 
the  seal — yes,  it  was  sealed  ! — and  took  out  a 
number  of  printed  papers,  which  he  flung  into 
the  fire,  and  a  small  metal  box  containing  the 
most  delightful  little  caricature  of  a  tablet  of 
soap.  The  extraordinary  cleanliness  of  the  whole 
company  that  afternoon  was  the  subject  of  much 
favourable  comment,  but  sundry  bright  hopes 
that  were  built  upon  the  incident  were  doomed 
to  disappointment.    Indeed,  there  was  a  violent 


1 1  o  Days  of  Discovery 

reaction  within  the  week,  upon  an  evening  when 
we  were  each  engaged  in  turn  in  testing  the 
capabilities  of  a  new  blacking. 

For  with  the  fortuitous  departure  of  Those  in 
Authority  to  the  Continent  for  a  month  the  great 
new  sport  was  soon  in  full  swing.  The  alluring 
phrase,  "  Sample  sent  on  application,"  became 
forthwith  our  watchword.  We  had  discovered  a 
fresh  interest  that  carried  us  far  beyond  the 
narrow  confines  of  the  nursery,  that  suddenly 
put  a  new  value  upon  newspapers,  that  made 
the  arrival  of  the  post  the  outstanding  event  of 
the  day,  and  that  brought  us  at  once  into  touch 
with  countless  manufacturers  throughout  the 
land.  By  common  consent  our  operations  were 
conducted  with  profound  secrecy.  A  special 
scout  was  told  off  every  day  to  meet  the  postman 
at  the  door  and  bring  up  the  morning's  spoils, 
and  our  correspondence,  which  had  become 
enormous,  was  for  the  most  part  conducted  in 
the  box-room  behind  looked  doors. 

After  a  time  we  specialized.  One  of  us  took 
up  the  study  and  comparison  of  soaps,  tooth 
powders  and  hair  restorers.  Another  admitted 
only  to  his  growing  collection  blotting-paper, 
pencils,  and  pen-nibs.    A  third  dealt  exclusively 


Sent  on  Application  1 1 1 

in  patent  medicines,  with  a  special  leaning  to 
popular  cures  for  fits.  But  the  grocery  depart- 
ment— my  own — was  that  which  scored  most 
heavily.  Indeed,  I  was  only  allowed  to  carry  on 
this  section  of  the  concern,  free  from  outside 
competition,  on  the  understanding  that  the  spoils 
must  be  ultimately  divided.  Even  then  I  had 
far  the  best  of  it.  There  was  nothing — not  even 
the  diminutive  tubes  of  Special  Cream  for  the 
Complexion — to  be  compared  with  my  little  sack 
of  sugar,  my  three  small  biscuits  in  an  envelope, 
or  my  baby  canister  of  Finest  Ceylon  Tea.  Over 
the  latter  we  had  an  important  meeting  of  com- 
mittee to  test  its  qualities,  but  so  unsuccessful 
was  the  result  that  I  have  always  doubted  if  the 
water  coul(J  really  have  been  boiling.  Or  possibly 
the  best  tea  should  not  be  made  in  a  tumbler  ? 
Archie,  the  Stationer,  struck  out  a  special  line  in 
paints  and  blackings  after  a  while,  with  which 
there  is  no  doubt  he  had  a  very  happy  time,  so 
much  so  that  his  province  was  unwarrantably 
invaded  by  the  Chemist,  who  had  begun  to  find 
patent  medicines  unprofitable — though  it  is  true 
he  had  the  satisfaction  of  trying  some  of  them 
on  the  cat.    My  little  sister  (true  to  the  call  of 


1 1 2  Days  of  Discovery 

her  sex)  dealt,  through  an  amanuensis,  in  "  pat- 
terns "  of  stuffs  and  fabrics. 

Of  course  we  had  many  embarrassments.  Some 
of  our  urgent  inquiries  elicited  no  reply.  So 
many  of  them  demanded  the  amount  of  return 
postage  that  depredations  on  the  stamp-drawer 
in  the  hbrary  had  to  be  carefully  regulated  in 
accordance  with  the  supply  at  the  moment,  and 
as  the  stock  ran  low  a  call  even  had  to  be  made 
upon  pocket-money.  But  our  chief  anxieties 
were  connected  with  the  behaviour  of  sundry  of 
our  correspondents,  who  at  times  insisted  upon 
reopening  the  incident  after  the  sample  had  been 
sent  and  the  transaction  was  (from  our  point  of 
view)  complete.  We  would  get  disturbing  letters, 
pointing  out  that  since  the  writer's  last  com- 
munication (enclosing  sample  of  asthmatical 
cigarettes)  he  had  heard  no  further  from  us. 
He  would  be  glad  to  have  our  order  at  our  earliest 
convenience.  We  were  frankly  baffled  and  not  a 
little  concerned  as  to  what  was  our  proper  course 
in  the  face  of  this  development.  Discussion 
always  ended  by  the  letter  being  burned  without 
reply,  but  we  could  not  quite  forget  it.  We  could 
only  hope  that  he  would  not  go  so  far  as  to  take 
proceedings.     But  there  was  one  manufacturer 


Sent  on  Application  1 1 3 

(of  a  new  and  improved  blend  of  office  gum)  who 
created  a  fearful  scare  by  announcing  by  post- 
card that  his  representative  would  shortly  be  in 
our  neighbourhood  and  would  call  upon  us  one 
day  at  the  end  of  the  week.  We  spent  the  Friday 
and  Saturday  afternoons  in  ambush  in  the  coal- 
hole, and  only  breathed  freely  again  when  Sunday 
morning  arrived  and  we  had  heard  nothing  of 
this  disturbing  emissary.  But  the  Stationer  went 
so  far  as  to  insist  upon  returning,  with  acknow- 
ledgments, the  half-finished  bottle  of  gum. 

It  was  indeed  a  grand,  absorbing  pursuit. 
During  the  weeks  when  it  was  at  its  height  we 
lived  as  in  the  presence  of  a  continual  birthday, 
with  packets  of  all  shapes  and  forms  arriving  by 
every  post,  and  despite  the  experiments  we  carried 
out  with  the  spoils  our  private  collections  soon 
reached  fine  proportions.  It  was  the  Chemist 
who,  quite  unwittingly,  gave  the  thing  away. 
He  had  a  special  friend  outside  the  camp,  in  the 
boy  in  the  house  opposite,  who  by  way  of  develop- 
ing a  striking  peculiarity  had  just  become  a  strong 
teetotaller.  He  had  already  tried  to  convert  Old 
Joe,  the  mole-catcher,  to  his  principles,  when  it 
occurred  to  him  that  useful  work  might  be  done 
nearer  home.     He  had  been  looking  over  the 

H 


1 1 4  Days  of  Discovery 

Chemist's  stock,  and  must  have  abstracted  an 
item  from  it  all  unobserved.  For  he  was  dis- 
covered one  evening  surreptitiously,  and  no  doubt 
v^ith  the  best  intentions  in  the  v^orld,  putting  a 
spoonful  of  The  One  Safe  Cure  for  the  Drink 
Habit  into  his  father's  tea.  And  that  was  the 
end  of  it. 


XVI 

THE  USES  OF  THE  DUMMT 

I  DO  not  think  that  we  could  lay  claim  to  any 
special  originality  in  this  question  of  Dummies. 
I  suppose  that  most  children,  certainly  most 
lonely  children,  have  known  what  it  was  to  have 
a  familiar  spirit — an  imagined  brother,  sister  or 
friend  to  keep  them  company.  It  is  as  much 
part  of  the  game  as  the  practice  of  inventing  and 
elaborating  long,  thrilling  romances — ^in  which 
one  sustained  the  role  of  hero — leading  always  to 
a  triumphant  outcome  and  the  confusion  of  one's 
enemies ;  or  the  practice  of  entering  into  con- 
versation vnth  inanimate  objects  or  any  of  the 
other  natural  results  of  the  tissue  of  fantasy  in 
which  one  lived.  Familiar  spirits  indeed  require 
no  explanation  or  defence  :  they  were — as  I 
hope  to  show — too  obviously  useful  and  neces- 
sary a  part  of  one's  equipment.  One  could  hardly 
have  been  expected  to  get  along  without  them. 
They  sprang,  I  think,  from  that  mystery  of 
"5 


1 1 6  Days  of  Discovery 

dual  personality  which  so  often  lay  in  the  back- 
ground of  one's  thoughts.  For  at  a  time  when 
almost  everything  was  matter  for  wonder  and 
surprise,  in  a  world  which  was  full  of  discoveries 
there  was  perhaps  nothing  more  surprising  than 
one's  own  behaviour.  One  was  continually  doing 
and  saying  things  that  it  was  hard  to  believe  in 
afterwards.  How  often  have  I  wakened  in  the 
morning  in  meditative  mood  and  picked  out 
some  action  of  the  day  before,  as  an  insoluble 
puzzle,  not  probably  with  any  sense  of  remorse 
or  satisfaction,  but  with  sheer  increduHty.  One 
would  seem  to  have  had  such  a  vague  and  in- 
complete idea  of  what  one  was  capable  of  doing. 
The  unaccountable  actions  were  of  all  sorts, 
good  or  bad  or  merely  outlandish  :  some  of  a 
lurid  wickedness,  others  perhaps  of  a  strangely 
sympathetic  and  admirable  nature.  I  would 
reflect  that  I  was  bad  enough  in  many  ways, 
but  it  simply  could  not  have  been  I  who  had 
torn  up  that  telegram  lying  upon  the  hall  table 
in  order  to  score  oif  Those  in  Authority.  That 
was  altogether  beyond  one's  range  :  that  was 
felony.  On  the  other  hand,  I  had,  candidly, 
my  good  points ;  but  my  treatment  of  the  kitchen- 
maid,  my  spontaneous  offer  to  bring  in  the  coals 


The   Uses  of  the  Dummy  1 1 7 

for  her  (because  she  had  had  bad  news  from 
home) — that  was  quite  outside  my  scope.  I 
knew  very  well  that  I  never,  on  principle,  did 
that  sort  of  thing.  And  so  there  grew  the  feeling 
that  some  one  else  had  done  it ;  some  one,  so  to 
speak,  who  had  popped  in  and  taken  possession 
of  me  for  the  moment — my  familiar  spirit. 

I  remember  well  how  the  thing  began.  It 
was  when  I  was  trying  to  explain  away  an  act  of 
outstanding  virtue,  which  had  naturally  offended 
my  allies  and  had  considerably  bewildered  me. 
Old  John  Gardener  had  forgotten  to  come  in 
for  the  letters.  Ever  since  that  awful  episode  of 
the  telegram  I  had  had  an  exaggerated  idea  of 
the  vast  importance  of  all  postal  communica- 
tions. It  was  now  four  minutes  past  eight,  and 
the  post  went  at  8.10.  The  distance  was  not 
less  than  half  a  mile.  And  I  happened  to  be 
tremendously  busy  at  the  time  with  a  cap  pistol 
that  needed  repairs.  Yet  I  seized  the  letters 
and  sped  at  the  very  top  of  my  pace,  arriving 
with  them  just  in  the  nick  of  time.  I  was  duly 
rewarded  for  this  noble  action.  But  I  had  never 
thought  of  that.  Why  had  I  done  it  ?  Colin, 
who  was  a  good  deal  annoyed — partly  as  this  sort 
of  "  sucking  up  "  to  Those  in  Authority  smacked 


1 1 8  -    Days  of  Discovery 

of  disloyalty  ;  partly  perhaps  because  he  hadn't 
thought  of  doing  it  himself — wanted  to  know 
why.  He  supposed,  in  his  surliest  manner,  that 
I  expected  to  score  somehow.  I  assured  him 
nothing  had  been  further  from  my  thoughts. 
He  pressed  me.  Why  ?  And  I  was  quite  at  a 
loss.  "  I  don't  know,"  I  said  at  last,  not  without 
a  natural  irritation.  "  I  don't  believe  I  did  do 
it.  It  must  have  been  my  Dummy."  It  is  useless 
to  inquire  where  I  got  the  word  from,  but  that 
was  the  origin  of  Dummies.  Each  one  of  us  set 
one  up  forthwith. 

Their  first  use  was  simply  to  explain  away  such 
incidents  as  I  have  just  related.  They  proved 
invaluable.  Their  co-operation  was  indeed  most 
comforting  and  satisfactory  as  time  went  on. 
It  was  not  Archie  who  made  the  calf  swallow  a 
cabbage  with  a  string  tied  to  it  and  afterwards 
pulled  it  round  the  yard.  It  was  his  Dummy. 
It  could  not  have  been  Colin  who  shut  up  the 
hens  in  the  conservatory,  but  it  might  very 
easily  have  been  his  Dummy.  One  had,  of  course, 
to  suffer  the  consequences  of  such  acts,  but  it 
was  some  comfort  that  we  knew,  and  we  alone, 
who  was  responsible. 

But  after  a  while  Dummies  began  to  enjoy 


The   Uses  of  the  Dummy  1 1 9 

new  powers.  If  you  had  any  unpleasant  duty  to 
perform,  it  became  the  custom  to  send  your 
Dummy,  as  a  representative.  If  I  were  captured, 
owing  to  culpable  negligence  on  my  part,  to 
accompany  Authority  upon  an  afternoon  call, 
you  may  be  sure  it  was  not  I  who  went — though 
admittedly  it  appeared  to  be  so.  The  ordeal 
had  to  be  gone  through  to  the  bitter  end,  but  it 
was  not  nearly  so  bad  as  it  used  to  be  in  the 
old  days.  I  had  at  least  the  happy  consolation 
that  this  poor  fellow  was  only  my  Dummy  and 
that  I  was  at  home  playing  rounders.  And  in 
the  same  way  the  sort  of  relatives  who  insisted 
on  kissing  you — and  that  was  a  bad  moment — 
little  knew  that  they  had  really  failed  of  their 
intention,  and  it  was  only  your  Dummy  who  had 
suffered  this  indignity. 

We  did  not  all  treat  our  Dummies  alike.  My 
little  sister,  who  occupied  an  obscure  position  in 
most  of  our  undertakings,  suddenly  adopted  a 
method  which  we  could  not  but  admire  in  this 
regard.  Our  reason  for  not  ourselves  imitating 
it  was  due  to  a  feeling  that  it  was  peculiarly 
suited  to  her  sex,  though  why  that  was  so  I  am 
at  a  loss  to  explain.  She  had  a  whole  committee 
of  Dummies.     And  to  these  she  would  gravely 


1 20  Days  of  Discovery 

submit  any  new  problem  that  occurred  for 
decision.  There  was  Mabel,  who  always  took 
the  cynical  and  pessimistic  view.  There  was 
Alice,  who  was  simply  horrid.  Cynthia  was  so 
good  and  kind  but  very  stupid  :  and  Selina  had 
red  hair  and  talked  too  much.  The  only  part 
that  these  played  in  her  life  (for  she  never  grasped 
the  more  elaborate  operations  of  the  Dummy) 
was  that  of  discussion  and  debate,  but  she  spent 
many  hours  in  consultation  with  them.  For  the 
rest  Archie  had  a  habit  of  sending  forth  his 
Dummy  upon  all  manner  of  quests  and  adven- 
tures. It  was  his  office  to  go  out  into  the  world 
and  do  all  the  things  that  his  master  was  re- 
strained from  doing,  and  there  was  one  occasion 
when  after  a  fearful  collision  with  the  police  he 
was  locked  up  for  three  weeks,  and  Archie  had 
to  do  himself  all  the  little  jobs  that  by  rights 
belonged  to  him,  eagerly  counting  the  days  till 
his  release.  This  always  seemed  to  me  rather  an 
unjustifiable  and  fantastic  development.  The 
essence  of  my  Dummy  was  that  he  was  always  at 
hand,  ready  to  change  places  with  me  in  a 
moment,  as  occasion  demanded,  though  I  would 
sometimes,  when  he  had  had  some  particularly 
unpleasant  job  to  perform,  allow  him  as  a  reward 


The   Uses  of  the  Dummy  1 2 1 

to  stay  up  for  half  an  hour  after  I  had  gone  to 
bed. 

Dummies  were  thus  of  the  greatest  possible 
practical  use,  and  they  were  also,  in  times  of 
loneliness  and  distress,  a  real  help  and  comfort. 
There  was  a  day  when  two  small  boys  were 
tossing  in  bed  in  the  same  room  in  the  horrid 
throes  of  chicken-pox.  All  attempts  to  while 
away  the  time  had  failed,  and  the  mocking  sun- 
shine poured  in  through  the  window,  along  with 
the  voices  of  those  more  fortunate  ones  who 
had  not  yet  fallen  beneath  the  scourge.  Of  course 
it  didn't  do  to  cry,  but  still  .  .  . 

"Never  mind,"  whispered  Archie.  "It's  all 
right  really.  Our  Dummies  are  out  there,  having 
a  good  time  !  " 


XVII 

WHHE  WEATHER 

It  is  a  deplorable  thing  to  lose  one's  taste  for 
snow.  There  is  no  more  certain  sign  of  advancing 
age.  It  means  that  one  has  ranked  oneself  for 
ever  on  the  side  of  the  Grown-ups.  It  is  equiva- 
lent to  losing  one's  taste  for  chocolate  cream  in 
slabs  and  for  walking  on  the  top  of  narrow  walls 
and  for  climbing  trees,  and  for  taking  violent 
exercise  immediately  after  lunch.  It  means,  in 
fact,  that  one  has  reached  the  point  of  giving  up 
nearly  everything  that  is  worth  doing,  that  one 
is  no  longer  capable  of  entering  into  the  purest 
forms  of  high  adventure.  It  is  possible  perhaps 
to  avoid  the  whole  misfortune  of  growing  up,  to 
save  at  least  some  shreds  and  tatters  of  one's  early 
possessions,  and  surely  such  a  splendid  gift  as 
snow  should  be  among  them.  I  cannot  believe 
that  we  need  fall  so  low  as  to  look  out  of  the  win- 
dow of  the  club  shaking  our  heads,  while  the  air 

122 


White  Weather  123 

is  full  of  scurrying  flakes,  and  talk  about  what  a 
beastly  mess  the  streets  will  be  in  to-morrow. 
Have  we  no  prick  of  memory,  and  do  we  see  no 
vision  and  hear  no  voice  from  the  past  that 
brings  back  to  mind  what  snow  once  meant  to 
us  ? 

It  meant  everything  !  It  was  by  all  odds  the 
most  glorious  of  the  unforeseen  events  of  the 
year.  One  would  lie  awake  at  night  in  the  rest- 
less hope  of  it.  One  would  spring  out  of  bed  at 
the  dawn  and  draw  up  the  blind,  quivering  with 
anticipation.  One  would  welcome  it  with  shouts 
of  delight — it  was  quite  impossible  to  sit  still 
and  pay  any  attention  to  one's  lessons  if  it  came 
on  unexpectedly — with  pagan  rites  and  invoca- 
tions, watching  it  with  a  painful,  strained 
anxiety  minute  by  minute,  fearing  a  slackening  of 
its  force,  dreading  any  lightening  of  the  stone-grey 
pall  above  from  which  it  tumbled,  dull  and  dark, 
as  one  looked  up  against  the  sky,  to  change — 
oh,  joyous  miracle  ! — to  twinkHng  white  as  it 
passed  by.  One  would  tear  oneself  away  to  hide 
one's  head  awhile  in  sofa  cushions  and  wait  and 
wonder  :  then  to  return  and  see  if  it  was  gaining 
ground.  And  when  it  began  to  "  He  "  !  At 
first  a  film  of  grey  upon  the  grass,  deepening, 


124  Days  of  Discovery 

deepening.  Then  the  drive  would  begin  to  whiten 
and  the  trees  to  carry  a  Hght  tracery.  And  now 
the  grass  is  white,  with  only  single  stalks  and 
tufts  emerging,  the  gravel  of  the  drive  has  lost 
its  pebbly  surface — the  flakes  are  banking  deep 
at  the  foot  of  the  window  pane,  the  trees  are 
loading  heavily.  And  now  the  line  between 
drive  and  lawn  is  submerged.  All  is  a  flat  expanse 
of  dazzHng  white.  It  is  lying  I  It  is  really  lying, 
and  falling  still,  and  getting  heavier  !  It  is  all 
glorious,  all  too  good  to  be  true.  Every  circum- 
stance of  the  dull  drab  life  of  yesterday  is  blotted 
out,  forgotten,  rendered  remote,  lost  in  the 
splendid  miracle  of  to-day.  Let  us  rush  forth 
with  a  whoop  into  the  thick  of  it,  toss  it  and 
fling  it,  tramp  through  it,  shake  it  in  clouds 
from  the  trees,  tumble  and  roll  in  it  in  sheer 
delight. 

And  let  us  by  no  means  forget  to  spread  a 
handkerchief  upon  it  that  we  may  see  how  dirty 
and  how  crumpled  it  will  look  against  that  per- 
fect purity. 

Thus  did  we  hail  its  coming.  But  the  miracle 
was  more  sudden  and  the  wonder  more  startling 
when  it  came  by  night.  For  one  thing  it  was 
amazing   that   that   bewildering   transformation 


White  Weather  125 


should  have  occurred  so  silently.  One  would 
have  expected  at  least  a  mighty  rumbling,  a 
shaking  of  foundations.  But  to  have  no  warning 
whatever,  to  become  aware  perhaps  as  one  opened 
one's  eyes  of  something  strange  in  the  quality 
of  the  dim  light  in  the  room,  to  leap  headlong 
to  the  window  and  wake  the  household  with  the 
reverberations  of  the  great  announcement — 
"  Snow  !  Snow  !  Snow  !  "  It  was  Hke  a  thunder- 
clap of  good  fortune. 

And  when  it  went — when  it  grew  heavy,  grey 
and  sugary,  charged  with  moisture,  when  great 
rents  appeared  in  the  garment  and  vivid  grass 
showed  through — when  the  drive  was  ploughed 
into  deep  mud,  and  the  trees  let  fall  their  burdens, 
we  mourned  its  passing  with  a  keen  regret.  At 
last  there  would  be  but  little  patches  here  and 
there — the  remnant  of  the  drift  between  the 
hedges — a  shrinking  bank  behind  the  wall.  We 
would  husband  it  earnestly  to  the  last.  The 
Snow  Man  could  still  be  mended  as  long  as  a  few 
handfuls  of  material  remained.  Even  the  Snow 
House  must  be  sacrificed  to  his  superior  claim, 
to  keep  him  going  as  long  as  might  be.  But  the 
end  must  come.  Most  tragic  of  all  when  rain 
demoHshed  all  the  splendour.     (Can  I  not  hear 


126  Days  of  Discovery 

some  soulless  city  man  remark  "  I  hope  it  will 
change  to  rain  before  night,"  and  do  I  not  grieve 
for  him  ?)  For  to  see  all  our  immeasurable  gift 
washed  away  in  drip  and  slush  and  mud,  was  to 
taste  bitterness  indeed. 

The  muffled  sound  of  wheels.  .  .  .  Old  John 
Gardener  passing  beneath  the  window,  a  shovel 
over  his  shoulder  and  a  broom  in  his  hand, 
grumbling  (but,  of  course,  he  didn't  mean  it : 
wouldn't  he  be  the  first  to  lend  his  old  clay 
pipe  and  a  walking  stick  for  the  Snow  Man  ?) 
...  A  kicking  and  scraping  at  the  back  door 
where  the  butcher's  boy  has  arrived.  ...  A 
sudden  avalanche  off  the  roof  on  to  the  con- 
servatory. ...  A  cat  floundering  in  awkward 
leaps  across  the  lawn.  .  .  .  Birds  that  leave 
dainty  tracks  behind  them.  .  .  .  And  always 
muffled  footsteps  .  .  .  muffled  wheels.  Why, 
even  from  the  nursery  window  it  was  a  new 
world. 

And  when  one  went  forth  into  the  thick  of 
it !  At  the  very  outset  there  was  a  danger  of  a 
flood  in  the  yard  where  the  culvert  had  got 
choked.  And  all  about  us,  lavishly  heaped  on 
every  side,  tons  of  incomparable  material  for 
more  good  ends  than  one  could  think  of  in  a  day. 


White  Weather  127 


There  was  the  Snow  Man  of  course.  He  came 
first,  if  only  from  our  natural  desire  to  husband 
and  preserve,  for  when  all  else  was  gone  he  would 
remain  to  us  for  some  few  days  at  least — a  dwind- 
ling pillar.  Then  the  Snow  House,  hollowed  out 
with  spades  from  a  heaped,  solid  mass.  After 
that  perhaps  Snow  Steps,  Snow  Statues.  And 
through  them  all  a  running  fire  of  Snow  Balls. 
You  see  there  was  work  for  months  if  only  it 
would  last.  The  one  burning  question  of  the 
day  was  always — Will  it  "  bind  "  ?  Binding  snow 
was  a  rare  but  perilous  delight.  For  well  we 
knew  that  it  was  thawing.  The  very  fact  of  its 
great  excellence  was  also  the  warning  of  its  im- 
pending departure.  And  feverishly,  madly  we 
made  the  most  of  it.  It  was  hard  indeed  to  be 
dragged  into  the  house  at  all  on  days  of  binding 
snow.  Surely  to  go  in  for  dinner  was  to  allow 
the  petty  routine  of  every  day  to  shackle  and 
confine  a  festival  ?  Was  there  not  time  to  eat 
when  it  was  dark  ?  For  meanwhile  great  cylin- 
drical rolls  of  white  were  being  pushed  to  and 
fro,  swelling  and  crunching  as  they  went,  picking 
up  the  snow  behind  them  so  cleanly  as  to  leave  a 
long  green  ribbon  in  their  wake,  and  becoming 
at  last  so  huge  that  two  or  three  must  push 


128  Days  of  Discovery 

together,  and  it  was  high  time  they  were  headed 
for  the  slope  of  the  bank,  where  they  might 
finish  ponderously  down  hill. 

And  even  all  that  is  but  the  beginning  of  the 
tale.  There  were  sledges  and  toboggans.  In  the 
garden  much  might  be  done,  by  using  the  two 
banks  and  making  a  hard  beaten  track  between 
them.  It  must  be  trampled  down,  and  beaten 
hard,  and — if  there  was  prospect  of  a  frost  at 
night — watered  laboriously.  Thereafter  by  care- 
ful cultivation  and  incessant  use  we  would  work 
up  the  pace  (with  the  toboggan  that  old  John 
had  made)  till  we  could  run  both  banks  with 
ease  and  far  across  the  bottom  lawn.  And  once, 
when  the  conditions  had  been  all  in  favour  and 
the  snow  had  stayed  a  week,  we  were  even  able  to 
reach  the  walk  at  the  far  side  and  steer  gingerly 
past  the  summer-house.  Then  would  we  supple- 
ment old  John's  toboggan  with  a  motley  crew  of 
other  racers — an  old  tea-tray  (which  spun  slowly 
round  upon  its  course),  a  piece  of  corrugated  iron 
(most  obstinate  to  steer)  the  shiny  leather  cushion 
from  the  schoolroom  sofa  (but  there  was  trouble 
about  that).  And  there  were  greater  toboggan- 
ing adventures  far  afield.  There  was  a  reckless 
course  down  a  steep  street,  to  the  terror  of  the 


White  Weather  129 


normal  traffic.  There  were  the  sand-hills,  where 
slopes  were  long  and  smooth,  and  the  speed 
terrific.  .  .  . 

Indeed   it   is  a  grievous  thing  to   lose  one's 
taste  for  snow. 


XVIII 

FROST 

One  of  the  earliest  and  most  painful  periods  of 
acute  self-denial  that  I  can  remember  was  that 
during  which  I  was  saving  up  to  buy  a  ther- 
mometer. It  was  not  by  any  means  so  bad  as  the 
time  that  I  broke  Miss  Jones'  umbrella.  That 
was  a  painful  matter  altogether.  I  had  broken 
it  in  a  sense  deliberately.  That  is  to  say,  I  had 
been  told  not  to  lean  upon  it,  as  it  would  not 
stand  my  weight,  and  having  a  different  opinion 
upon  that  point  I  had  continued  to  lean  upon  it 
with  a  careless  and  detached  air  until  it  suddenly 
gave  way.  Therefore  it  was  ordained  that  I 
must  pay  for  the  repairs.  Miss  Jones,  I  knew, 
would  not  have  insisted  had  I  been  able  to  get 
her  alone  and  talk  it  over  with  her,  but  Those 
in  Authority  intervened.  One  and  Ninepence  it 
came  to,  which- — with  the  official  pocket-money 
ruling  at  sixpence  a  month — left  me  a  pretty 
dreary  prospect  to  look  forward  to.    The  accumu- 

130 


Frost  1 3 1 

lation  of  the  first  shilling  was  not  so  bad.  I 
happened  to  come  in  for  a  windfall  and  besides  I 
had  started  with  a  grim  determination.  But  the 
next  sixpence  dragged  horribly,  and,  at  the  last, 
when  I  handed  in  the  whole  amount,  it  was  with 
the  feelings  of  an  escaped  prisoner  and  with  a 
lively  distaste  for  umbrellas  from  which  I  have 
never  quite  recovered. 

The  thermometer  was  not  nearly  so  bad  as 
that.  It  was  a  self-imposed  trial  for  one  thing, 
and  the  monthly  rate  had  risen  to  ninepence  by 
then.  But  it  was  a  big  effort  all  the  same.  It 
argued  a  remarkable  firmness  of  purpose  to  go 
forward  as  I  did  then,  week  after  week,  austere, 
ascetic,  till  I  had  almost  forgotten  the  taste  of 
chocolate  cream.  But  I  never  regretted  it.  The 
truth  is  that  I  had  begun  to  mistrust  the  readings 
of  the  thermometer  on  the  wall  outside  the  dining- 
room  window.  For  one  thing  it  was  a  full  six  feet 
off  the  ground,  and  I  was  convinced  that  it  was 
also  affected  by  the  heat  from  the  room.  Anyhow 
it  had  stood  at  36  one  day  when  ice  was  forming 
on  the  puddles.  I  could  never  feel  the  same  faith 
in  it  after  that. 

But  when  I  had  my  own  I  soon  found  it  pos- 
sible to  obtain  magnificent  readings,  which  quite 


1 3  2  Days  of  Discovery 

put  to  shame  the  thermometer  upon  the  wall. 
If  the  wind  was  in  the  South  when  the  frost 
came  I  would  put  it  on  the  ground  in  the  Field 
Below  where  it  got  the  whole  force  of  the  blast ; 
if  the  frost  came  from  the  North  I  would  mount 
it  on  the  High  Trellis.  I  would  consult  it  at 
night  with  a  box  of  matches,  and  again  before 
breakfast  in  the  twilight.  And  thus  I  got  it 
almost  at  its  best.  Often  in  the  Twenties.  More 
than  once  below  Twenty.  On  one  memorable 
occasion  as  low  as  12  degrees.  That  was  in  the 
morning.  The  morning  readings  generally  beat 
those  taken  overnight.  One  went  to  bed  so  de- 
plorably early.  Meanwhile  that  lumbering  old 
instrument  on  the  wall  would  be  dragging  along 
five  or  six  degrees  behind,  as  if  unable  to  believe 
in  the  full  extent  of  the  glorious  dispensation  of 
the  frost.  Decidedly  my  money  was  well  in- 
vested. 

My  thermometer  was  never  of  the  slightest 
interest  to  me  when  it  recorded  anything  over 
40  degrees.  A  comparison  of  one  warm  day 
vrfth  another,  the  difference  between  the  sun 
and  shade  temperature  simply  counted  for 
nothing.  All  that  was  as  bad  as  consulting  the 
barometer.     It  was  simply  Weather.     We  had 


Frost 133 

no  interest  in  weather.  But  when  it  got  well 
down  into  the  thirties  it  began  to  show  prospect 
of  frost,  and  frost  meant  Ice. 

We  longed  for  its  coming  with  an  almost 
painful  anxiety.  We  did  all  we  could  to  welcome 
it.  The  thermometer,  although  indubitably  the 
chief  of  our  recording  implements,  was  by  no 
means  the  only  one.  My  eldest  brother  pinned 
his  faith  to  a  wet  rag,  hung  on  a  bush — not  too 
wet,  but  nicely  wrung  out  to  the  proper  con- 
sistency. He  would  consult  it  frequently  and 
moisten  it  at  intervals  :  and  at  the  very  first  sign 
of  stiffening  he  would  call  us  all  together  to 
rejoice  with  him.  I  can  see  him  now  as  he  used 
to  come  sadly  in  to  tea  shaking  his  head,  after  a 
disappointing  inspection.  "  Still  limp,"  he  would 
say,  "  still  quite  limp."  There  was  another  who 
worked  with  a  shallow  bowl  or  saucer  and  fre- 
quently raised  a  discussion  on  the  interesting 
inquiry  as  to  whether  boiling  water  froze  quicker 
than  cold  water,  as  we  had  been  told.  Another  had 
a  tumbler  on  a  chosen  spot  on  the  bank,  and  would 
bring  in — on  good  mornings — a  beautifully  shaped 
cone  of  ice,  not  quite  solid  but  with  the  water 
locked  inside.  And  there  were  bottles,  of  course. 
If  you  cork  a  bottle  in  the  ordinary  way  and  the 


134  Days  of  Discovery 

frost  is  keen  it  will  push  up  the  cork  some  inches 
at  the  end  of  a  spoke  of  ice,  in  the  most  delight- 
ful manner.  And — better  still — if  you  fix  the 
cork  firmly  enough  with  wire  and  there  is  a  really 
tremendous  frost  (so  we  believed,  though  I  must 
admit  we  never  proved  it)  it  will  break  !  That, 
of  course,  is  simply  the  ice  trying  to  get  out. 
You  may  guess  that  after  a  really  big  night's 
work,  when  even  the  out-of-date  old  instrument 
on  the  wall  had  spoken  of  great  cold,  it  was  a 
splendid  and  most  moving  thing  to  sally  forth 
in  the  white,  misty,  breathless  dawn  to  visit  our 
devices  and  count  up  our  gains.  Sometimes  you 
could  hold  out  Sidney's  rag  by  one  corner, 
horizontally,  like  a  stick. 

And  there  is  white,  clear,  crackling  cat-ice  on 
the  puddles  .  .  .  and  the  Pit  is  skimmed  over 
with  a  noble  sheet  .  .  .  and  everything  is  dry 
and  clean  and  hard  .  .  .  and  every  little  twig 
and  blade  picked  out  in  white.  .  .  .  There  are 
exquisite  sprays  and  branches,  pennons  and  spikes 
on  the  windows  in  the  house  .  .  .  and  a  frozen 
sponge  in  the  bathroom.  It  is  too  soon  as  yet 
to  speak  of  skating.  For  no  one  must  venture 
on  the  Pit  till  Old  John  Gardener  has  safely 
walked  across  it.    But,  if  there  be  no  change  by 


Frost  135 

the  afternoon,  by  Jove,  we'll  start  to  make  the 
sHde  to-night ! 

By  the  light  of  a  candle  set  on  the  ground, 
burning  serenely  in  the  still  air,  the  walk  beyond 
the  lawn  was  banked  at  either  end.  And  then 
back  and  forth  we  ran,  interminably,  with  jugs 
and  buckets,  from  the  tap  in  the  pantry,  lavishly 
drenching  the  whole  length  of  the  asphalt.  Back 
and  forth  from  the  light  and  warmth  within  to 
the  chill,  outer  air,  straining  and  spilling  as  we 
went,  and  ever  encouraged  by  our  chief  who 
would  assure  us  that  a  little  more  would  do,  just 
a  little,  and  it  was  actually  freezing  on  already. 
Thus  we  would  lay  up  reckless  joys — always  pro- 
vided that  the  rag  be  not  limp  and  forlorn — for 
the  morrow. 

I  had  a  secret  method  of  my  own,  an  impious, 
pagan  method  for  encouraging  the  frost.  I 
cannot  remember  a  single  occasion  on  which  it 
bore  fruit,  but  I  had  a  strong  faith  in  it  all  the 
same.  When  first  the  Pit  was  coated  over,  long 
before  old  John's  first  adventurous  expedition 
upon  it  was  even  thought  of,  I  would  fling  out 
upon  the  glittering  surface  a  silver  coin,  secretly 
and  unobserved.  One  did  not  part  with  three- 
pence without  a  pang.     But  I  had  great  faith. 


136  Days  of  Discovery 

The  theory  was  that  thus  one  tempted  Fortune 
in  the  hope  that  one's  courage  would  bring  a  fit 
reward.  If  the  frost  held  till  the  Pit  would  bear, 
I  would  recover  my  imperilled  offering.  And  if 
not  it  would  be  lost  to  me  for  ever. 


XIX 

THE  GALE 

Weather  is  only  of  interest  to  small  boys  when  it 
becomes  startling  and  aggressive.  Generally  we 
took  it  very  much  as  it  came.  There  was  plenty 
to  do  in  the  house  when  it  rained  :  and  we  were 
practically  impervious  to  variations  of  heat  and 
cold.  Indeed,  I  think  we  hardly  noticed  the 
weather.  We  never  commented  on  it  in  the  usual 
course  of  events.  To  be  able  to  remark  that  it  is 
a  fine  day,  when  that  fact  is  obvious  to  any  one 
who  cares  to  look,  is  essentially  a  fatuous  and 
grown-up  accomplishment.  What  we  demanded 
of  the  weather  was  abnormal  situations.  We  were 
always  hungry  for  anything  that  was  capable  of 
upsetting  the  daily  tenor  of  our  Hfe,  anything 
that  created  new  conditions,  anything  that  caused 
confusion  and  opened  up  opportunity.  When 
Miss  Gardener's  younger  sister  took  scarlet  fever 
and  a  new  governess  had  to  be  found  while  she 
was  in  quarantine,  it  was  all  sheer  gain.    When 

137 


138  Days  of  Discovery 

the  bow-window  was  being  put  in  to  the  nursery 
and  we  had  to  migrate  to  the  spare  room,  with 
much  hauling  back  and  forth  of  furniture,  we 
rejoiced  exceedingly.  It  was  all  so  splendidly 
inconvenient.  And  when,  there  being  serious 
illness  in  the  house,  one  or  more  of  us  had  to  be 
boarded  out  in  inferior  lodgings,  hastily  acquired, 
it  was  magnificent.  It  is  hardly  too  much  to  say 
that  we  lived  in  the  daily  hope  of  something 
going  wrong.    What  we  wanted  was  chaos. 

In  this  regard  the  weather  sometimes  came  to 
our  aid.  Snow  was,  of  course,  the  most  valuable 
dispensation,  and  frost,  while  it  lasted,  kept  us 
in  a  quivering  state  of  delight.  But  extreme  heat 
— capable  of  prostrating  Grown-ups — was  not  to 
be  despised.  Thunderstorms,  floods  and  hurri- 
canes and  even  fog,  if  it  were  dense  enough,  were 
welcomed  with  ecstatic  glee,  in  violent  contrast 
to  the  apprehension  of  more  reasonable  beings. 
Indeed  in  these  matters  we  cannot  be  said  to 
have  been  in  sympathy  with  our  parents  and 
guardians,  whose  relief  at  the  passing  of  the 
visitation,  great  as  it  was,  cannot  have  been  greater 
than  our  bitter  disappointment. 

Especially  we  disagreed  about  wind.  Grown- 
up People,  even  when  it  wasn't  dangerous,  always 


The  Gale  139 


appeared  to  find  wind  irritating  and  objection- 
able. Perhaps  they  resented  being  banged  about  : 
perhaps  they  did  not  appreciate  losing  their  hats : 
possibly  they  found  it  difficult,  if  a  shower  came 
on,  to  steer  an  umbrella.  Of  course  the  truth  is 
that  the  first  use  of  wind  is  to  bang  one  about  : 
that  there  is  no  more  merry  sport  than  chasing  a 
hat,  especially  among  traffic  :  that  an  umbrella 
(contemptible  at  other  times)  becomes  a  splendid 
instrument  of  joyous  motion  if  opened  out  before 
the  gale,  so  that  one  has  dreams  of  a  conceivable 
development,  if  only  the  wind  is  strong  enough 
and  the  umbrella  large  enough,  in  which  one 
will  be  lifted  off  one's  feet,  hallooing  gloriously. 

It  was  not  only  in  the  uses  to  which  it  might 
be  put,  however,  that  wind  appealed  to  us.  There 
were  days  when  it  seemed  to  get  into  one's  blood, 
inspiring,  uplifting,  lashing  one  into  a  frenzy  as 
nothing  else  would  do.  The  roar  of  it  in  the 
branches  .  .  .  the  howl  of  it  about  the  chimney- 
pots .  .  .  the  tearing,  rending  force,  bending  and 
swaying  all  before  it  .  .  .  the  mad  dance  of 
scurrying  leaves  .  .  .  the  whisk  and  sudden  grip 
of  it  !  .  .  .  Did  it  not  invite  one  to  rush  forth 
with  open  arms,  with  upturned  face,  deafened 
and  tossed  and  buffeted,  with  the  breath  blown 


140  Days  of  Discovery 

out  of  one's  mouth  and  the  dust  blown  into  one's 
eyes — yelling  and  prancing  on  a  headlong  course  ? 
It  was  a  fine  sensation  to  brace  oneself  and  peer 
into  the  teeth  of  it :  it  was  a  most  singular  and 
delightful  sensation  to  turn  one's  back  and  lean 
up  against  it,  boldly  adventuring  one's  weight 
and  sprawling  at  full  length  if  there  came  a 
sudden  lull.  And  there  were,  of  course,  plenty  of 
special  sports  and  games  that  belonged  to  it. 
You  could  mount  a  sail  on  the  go-cart  and  tool 
gaily  about  the  asphalt.  You  could  sport  with 
inflated  pillow-cases :  and  you  would  not  fail 
to  go  down  to  the  cliffs  to  see  the  tide  come  in. 

And,  with  any  luck,  there  was  pretty  sure  to  be 
Damage.  There  were  days  when  even  a  tour 
through  the  streets  meant  dodging  flying  chimney 
pots.  One  could  count  on  something  giving  way. 
There  was  at  every  point  at  least  a  chance  of 
crashing  destruction.  Once  I  met  a  flying  cab, 
and  that  was  perhaps  the  greatest  event  of  all. 
For  there  is  nothing  that  takes  one's  breath  away 
like  a  flying  cab — whirled  up  the  street  backwards. 
Even  loose  slates  counted  for  something  in  reckon- 
ing up  the  bag. 

And  then  the  great  question  arose  of  the  be- 
haviour of  the  trellis.    It  ran  between  the  bleach- 


The  Gale  141 


ing  green  and  the  kitchen  garden  and  was  a  full 
eight  feet  high.  And  it  was  very  old  and  infirm. 
There  had  hardly  been  a  notable  gale  in  which 
the  trellis  had  not  sagged  and  suffered.  It  had 
been  boosted  up  a  dozen  times  with  fresh  sup- 
ports. And  it  was  morally  certain  that  some 
day  it  would  come  down  at  a  blow  in  its  whole 
swishing,  crackling  length.  You  may  guess  that 
we  did  not  mean  to  miss  that  moment.  As  a 
matter  of  fact  it  fell  at  the  last  in  the  middle 
of  the  night  and  we  were  left  with  the  barren 
satisfaction  of  gloating  on  the  wreck. 

In  the  house  next  door,  which  had  a  large 
expanse  of  garden,  lived  an  irate  old  gentleman. 
He  was  a  great  asset.  I  am  convinced  that  no 
family  of  small  boys  can  be  considered  to  have 
been  brought  up  in  circumstance  of  unfettered 
opportunity  without  an  irate  old  gentleman  next 
door.  Our  feud  with  him  dated  from  a  time 
when  he  had  deliberately  refused  to  send  back 
tennis  balls — although  they  can  have  been  of  no 
earthly  use  to  him.  We  watched  him  from  the 
top  of  the  great  wall.  We  made  daring  incur- 
sions into  his  territory.  Sometimes,  with  a  piece 
of  bread  on  the  end  of  a  string,  we  fished  for  his 
hens.    But  the  matter  had  never  reached  the  point 


142  Days  of  Discovery 

of  a  deliberate  complaint  to  Those  in  Authority, 
as  our  relations  with  the  Girls'  School  on  the 
other  side  had  done  more  than  once.  It  was 
the  Gale  that  brought  it  to  a  head.  We  would 
not  have  thought  of  such  a  thing  at  any  other 
time,  but,  as  I  have  said,  wind  gets  into  the  very 
blood  of  a  small  boy  and  makes  him  capable 
of  anything  :  and  so  our  perennial  desire  to 
score  off  the  old  gentleman  found  suddenly  a 
brilliant  outlet.  I  had  been  tossing  up  my  cap 
to  see  how  far  it  would  travel,  and  it  sailed  high 
across  the  wall,  and  thus  the  idea  came  to  me. 
It  was  a  Sunday  afternoon  and — in  contrast  to 
the  hurricane  outside — peace  reigned  within  the 
house.  There  was  little  chance  of  being  caught. 
With  all  the  newspapers  we  could  lay  hands  on 
we  made  our  way  to  the  top  of  the  wall,  cHnging 
on  precariously  by  the  ivy.  The  plan  was  both 
beautifully  simple  and  exceedingly  amusing.  You 
had  but  to  tear  up  the  papers,  roll  each  piece  in 
a  rough  ball  and  toss  it  high  in  air,  when  it  was 
sent  flying  into  the  old  gentleman's  garden.  They 
ran  across  the  lawn,  caught  in  the  bushes,  scane  of 
them  hanked  long  streamers  in  the  trees.  Many 
were  held  up  flapping  against  the  conservatory. 
Some  flew  on  over  the  far  hedge  to  decorate  the 


The  Gale  143 


kitchen  garden.  One  at  last  caught  the  sundial 
(which  had  been  our  special  objective).  Twice 
we  had  to  send  Archie  into  the  house  for  fresh 
supplies  of  material.  And  by  the  time  we  had 
finished  the  whole  garden  lay  before  us  a  dis- 
graceful desolation  of  torn  newspaper.  fFouldn^t 
there  be  a  row  ! 

We  went  in,  meek  but  triumphant,  to  nursery 
tea.  We  talked  as  best  we  could  of  the  ordinary 
affairs  of  life.  We  ate  and  drank  demurely.  But 
all  the  time  we  were  straining  our  ears  for  the 
signal  that  was  bound  to  come.  We  were  quite 
resigned  :  we  had  had  our  fun  :  had  shown  the 
old  gentleman  what  happens  to  those  who  retain 
other  people's  tennis  balls  :  we  had  made  that 
garden  look  a  fool.  Had  we  not  counted  a  hun- 
dred and  twenty-four  of  our Ah,  there  it 

was  at  last  !  A  violent,  urgent  ringing  of  the 
front- door  bell. 


XX 

DEVICES  AND  CONTRIVANCES 

From  the  moment  when  it  begins  seriously  to 
ape  and  imitate  the  behaviour  of  those  who  are 
grown-up  childhood  loses  its  savour  of  spontaneity 
and  surrenders  its  precious  point  of  view.  There 
was,  of  course,  an  earlier  imitative  age  when  we 
copied  most  assiduously  the  habits  and  manners 
of  Those  in  Authority.  But  that  was  a  travesty 
pure  and  simple.  We  were  not  trying  to  be  as 
they  were  or  to  do  as  they  did.  We  were  simply 
trying  to  take  them  off  and  to  show  them  up. 
It  was  a  dramatic  form  of  parody.  In  this  spirit 
one  would  settle  solemnly  down  to  read  a  vast 
volume  from  the  library,  holding  it  at  an  angle 
to  catch  the  light  and  laboriously  adjusting 
borrowed  pince-nez,  or  one  would  shave  with  the 
back  of  a  comb,  facing  the  mirror  with  startling 
contortions  of  expression.  There  were  many 
light-hearted  jokes  of  that  sort  in  vogue.     The 

144 


Devices  and  Contrivances  145 

calling  of  cabs,  the  tipping  of  waiters,  the 
answering  of  telephones ;  the  pompous  attitude 
on  the  hearthrug  with  back  to  the  fire,  based  upon 
Uncle  John  ;  the  appreciative  sipping  of  port, 
based  upon  Uncle  Henry — all  these  were  joyously 
performed.  But  it  is  at  the  time  when  one 
begins  to  think  that  it  might  really  be  of  interest 
to  read  a  book  from  the  library  or  that  it  might 
really  be  a  fine  thing  to  have  to  shave  in  sober 
earnest,  that  the  true  spirit  of  the  Golden  Age 
fades  rapidly  away. 

For  the  guiding  principle  of  boyhood  is  a  wide 
freedom  from  all  order,  conventionality,  tradi- 
tion ;  a  rooted  determination  not  to  tread  the 
beaten  track,  to  choose  its  pursuits  for  itself  and 
evolve  its  interests  for  itself.  A  boy  may  be  kept 
within  a  fairly  rigid  programme  of  daily  habit  in 
the  outward  practical  life.  But  all  that  is  to 
him  no  more  than  the  inevitable  and  monotonous 
framework  of  his  existence.  In  the  chosen 
enthusiasms  that  consume  his  strange,  eager  little 
heart  he  cannot  be  coerced.  He  will  royally 
disregard  elaborate  arrangements  for  his  enter- 
tainment, however  carefully  they  may  have  been 
prepared,  in  favour  of  some  queer  and  seemingly 


1 46  Days  of  Discovery 

futile  occupation  of  his  own  that  he  had  thought 
of  himself,  that  belonged  to  himself.  I  remember 
the  oft-repeated  complaint  that  no  one  ever 
knew  what  I  would  do  next.  But  I  never  knew 
myself.  That  was  why  life  was  so  vivid  and 
entrancing.  It  had  no  foregone  conclusions.  It 
was  a  long  procession  of  the  unexpected  and  the 
improbable. 

I  was  always  much  engrossed  with  problems  of 
communication  by  new  and  original  methods. 
I  am  now  convinced  that  no  one  has  less  aptitude 
for  mechanics  or  engineering  than  I.  But  in 
those  days  I  wrestled  with  self-appointed  diffi- 
culties. There  was  no  reason  for  it  whatsoever. 
If  one  did  want  to  send  a  message  from  the 
nursery  to  the  bathroom,  the  quickest  and  most 
direct  method  was  either  to  go  in  person  or  to 
shout.  But  I  must  have  my  own  contrivance  for 
this  absurd  and  inadequate  purpose.  Even  if  it 
could  only  be  laid  down  when  the  traffic  was  sus- 
pended, even  if  it  was  liable  to  be  pinched  when 
the  door  swung  to,  even  if  the  door  had  to  be 
held  open  with  a  chair  as  long  as  it  was  in  action, 
I  was  well  satisfied  when  I  got  through  my  mes- 
sages— about  nothing  at  all — by  speaking  tube. 
I  used  a  telephone  later  on  that  could  actually  be 


Devices  and  Contrivances  \/\rj 

extended  as  far  as  the  dining-room,  by  means  of 
two  little  drums  connected  by  a  string.  But  I 
never  really  cared  for  that.  It  had  not  been  my 
own  idea.    It  smacked  of  the  shop. 

But  a  really  fine  effect  was  produced  by  means 
of  pulleys.  And  this  I  elaborated  greatly.  Even 
now  I  cannot  quite  accept  a  pulley  as  a  mere 
mechanical  device.  I  must  regard  it  with  a  more 
friendly  eye  as  an  engine  of  adventure  and 
romance.  A  string  was  stretched  tight  from  the 
window  of  the  spare  bedroom  to  the  lawn  out- 
side, and  on  this  ran  a  pulley  with  a  small  basket 
depending  from  it,  which  could  be  drawn  up  and 
down  with  a  cord.  It  gave  me  a  fine  sense  of 
achievement  to  sit  at  the  open  window,  with  my 
accomplice  down  below,  hauling  up  and  letting 
down  all  manner  of  assorted  cargoes.  Well  did  I 
know  that  if  others  wished  to  deposit  a  cricket  ball 
for  any  reason — surely  the  contingency  might 
occur — on  the  seat  beneath  the  holm-oak,  they 
must  pass  down  two  flights  of  stairs  and  along  the 
passage  and  out  of  the  front  door,  while  I  could 
do  it  in  a  moment,  sitting  here.  And  I  took  a 
rich  delight  in  making  up  the  cargo  of  the  most 
delicate  and  perishable  goods,  watches,  clocks,  a 
china  vase  from  the  drawing-room,  to  prove  the 


148  Days  of  Discovery 

high  efficiency  of  my  means  of  transit.  Pulleys 
became  a  wholly  absorbing  passion  for  the  time. 
Nearly  every  upstairs  window  had  its  line  of 
communication  ;  then  string  gave  place  to  wire, 
and  the  distances  were  increased  as  I  threw  out 
my  receiving  stations  far  and  wide.  The  climax 
was  reached  when  we  penetrated  to  the  roof  of 
the  potting-shed,  and  that  night  the  basket 
swung  bobbing  down  the  line  vdth  a  lighted 
lantern  showing  red  within,  full  of  suggestion  of 
messages  despatched  from  a  besieged  citadel,  of 
signals  to  smugglers  in  the  offing,  or  of  rescues 
in  a  stormy  sea. 

The  highly  ingenious  episode  of  the  mirrors 
was  the  outcome,  if  I  remember  rightly,  of  one 
of  those  enforced  days  in  the  house — with  a  cold 
— when  one's  inventive  faculties  were  put  to  the 
test.  It  probably  could  not  have  been  carried 
to  a  successful  issue  had  not  Those  in  Authority 
been  away  from  home  that  afternoon,  and  that 
would  have  been  a  pity,  for  I  think  it  will  be 
admitted  that  it  was  a  thing  well  worth  the 
doing.  It  is  surprising  how  many  mirrors  there 
are  in  a  house  when  they  are  all  gathered  together. 
I  had  no  lack  of  material.  My  object  was  to  make 
a  perfect  chain  of  vision  from  the  night-nursery. 


Devices  and  Contrivances  149 

down  two  flights  of  stairs  and  round  three  corners, 
to  the  store-room  in  the  basement.  It  took  no 
little  delicacy  of  manipulation,  but  I  built  it  up 
one  stage  at  a  time  from  the  bottom  end,  with 
every  mirror  tilted  so  as  to  gather  the  reflection 
of  the  one  before,  till  at  last  with  a  shout  of 
triumph  I  had  the  thing  complete,  and  lying  on 
my  bed  upstairs  I  could  see  CoUn  making  faces  at 
me  beneath  the  store-room  gas.  What  unimagina- 
tive Grown-up  would  ever,  I  ask,  have  thought 
of  that  ? 

Perhaps  it  was  the  mirrors  that  suggested 
searchlights  and  all  the  grand  possibilities  of  a 
bright  tin  lid  or  piece  of  glass  catching  and  flashing 
forth  the  rays  of  the  sun.  It  was  good  fun  to 
make  this  beam  of  light  travel  round  the  room, 
illuminating  dusty  corners  and  startling  unsus- 
pecting persons  with  a  sudden  dazzling  shock. 
But  it  was  far  better  in  the  open  air.  And  the 
proudest  moment  of  my  brief  career  in  the  great 
world  of  signals,  messages  and  communications 
was  when  I  found  myself  in  a  ferry-boat  far  out 
in  the  river  and  by  preconcerted  arrangement 
could  see  and  glory  in  the  flashes  of  my  accom- 
plice in  the  garden  on  the  hill  two  miles 
away. 


150  Days  of  Discovery 

I  am  only  at  a  loss  to  understand  why  all  this 
early  promise  should  have  come  to  nought,  and 
why  Marconi  and  the  rest  should  now  have  the 
field  entirely  to  themselves. 


XXI 

WHEN  THE  BURGLARS  CAME 

It  actually  happened :  there  was  no  make- 
believe  about  it.  It  was  probably  the  most 
tremendous  event  of  our  whole  childhood,  the 
most  staggering,  suggestive,  romantic.  It  was  a 
whole  chapter  out  of  a  real  detective  story  en- 
acted before  our  very  eyes.  It  brought  the 
Burglar  home  to  us  as  a  real  criminal  who  broke 
into  the  real  houses  of  real  people.  He  was  no 
longer  a  glorious  abstraction,  like  the  Pirate  and 
the  Brigand.  Furthermore,  it  completely  upset 
the  ordinary  tenor  of  our  life,  and  anything  that 
was  capable  of  doing  that  was  always  welcomed 
with  glee  ;  and  it  gave  us  fine  thrills  of  terror 
which  added  much  to  the  spice  of  existence.  It 
was  a  time  of  awestruck  whispers,  of  solemn  con- 
claves, of  dark  surmises  and  sinister  reflection.  I 
suppose  that  Grown-up  Persons  must  have  found 
it  a  time  of  anxiety  and  annoyance,  but  it  meant 
so  much  to  the  nursery  that  surely  on  balance 


152  Days  of  Discovery 

the  household  may  be  said  to  have  gained  rather 
than  lost  by  the  visitation.  Besides,  all  the  stolen 
goods  were  recovered — ^which  v^as  rather  dis- 
appointing from  our  point  of  view  and  savoured 
of  anti-climax. 

The  real  hero  among  us  was  Sidney,  who  came 
out  of  the  affair  with  flying  colours,  regarded  with 
envious  eyes  for  the  part  that  he  had  played. 
It  is  true  that  he  had  slept  through  the  crisis  and 
known  nothing  of  it  till  the  morning,  but  at 
least  he  alone  had  come  into  actual  contact  with 
the  housebreakers.  He  slept  at  that  time  on  the 
ground  floor,  and  they  must  have  looked  in  upon 
him  while  engaged  upon  their  unholy  activities, 
for  they  had — and  it  just  shows  how  much  they 
feared  him  as  an  opponent — they  had  actually 
locked  him  in  !  His  first  knowledge  of  the  Event 
was  when  he  found  himself  a  prisoner  in  the 
morning.  But  the  fun  had  begun  before  that. 
It  began  at  6.30  a.m.,  with  the  hysterics  of  the 
cook — and  no  wonder.  For  these  dreadful  men, 
in  a  spirit  of  reckless  levity,  had  actually  fixed 
up  a  sort  of  scarecrow  on  the  kitchen  table  before 
taking  their  departure. 

There  followed  an  hour  of  panic  and  amazement, 
of  running  up  and  down  stairs,  of  fetching  assist- 


When  the  Burglars  Came  153 

ance,  of  proclaiming  conflicting  theories,  of 
heated  argument  and  general  confusion.  And 
after  that  the  thrilling  period  of  investigation 
and  discovery.  It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  v^re 
v^ere  allowed  to  be  present  while  this  was  in 
progress.  After  a  hasty  toilet,  in  which  we  must 
assist  each  other,  for  no  outside  help  was  to  be 
looked  for,  we  were  kept  safely  out  of  the  way 
as  far  as  possible  by  a  distracted  under-nurse, 
from  whom  little  information  could  be  elicited. 
But  a  scout  would  escape  from  time  to  time,  and 
as  the  first  startling  facts  came  to  light  the  report 
of  them  soon  filtered  through  to  us.  We  were 
enormously  impressed  at  the  very  outset  by  the 
serious,  set  purpose  of  these  desperate  men,  who 
had  actually  removed  the  cake  and  laid  it  care- 
fully upon  the  pantry  shelf  while  abstracting  the 
silver  basket  in  which  it  had  reposed.  We  felt 
at  once  that  these  were  no  ordinary  pilferers,  else 
they  had  hardly  left  that  noble  cake  behind. 
They  had  taken  five  coats  from  the  front  hall ! 
They  had  taken  the  Money-boxes — Our  Money- 
boxes ! — from  the  shelf  in  the  library.  At  this 
point  a  more  rigid  censorship  was  established. 
We  must,  it  seemed,  eat  our  breakfast  (just  as  on 
any  ordinary  day)  and  ask  no  more  questions. 


154  Days  of  Discovery 

But  despite  all  efforts  to  suppress  our  legitimate 
curiosity  we  managed  to  find  out  in  the  course 
of  the  day,  by  a  variety  of  means,  most  of  the 
known  facts  and  to  piece  them  together  to  our 
complete  satisfaction.  Much  was  picked  up  by 
overhearing  indiscreet  servants  imparting  the 
latest  information  to  one  another.  Something, 
but  not  very  much,  was  picked  up  by  pumping 
Old  John  Gardener,  who,  by  the  way,  had  become 
a  person  of  enormous  importance — consulting 
with  policemen,  investigating  upon  his  own 
account,  dismissing  with  asperity  the  reporter 
of  the  local  paper,  generally  overlooking  opera- 
tions. 

As  each  new  fragment  of  information  came  to 
us  a  whispered  consultation  would  take  place 
upon  the  nursery  sofa  in  a  white  heat  of  excite- 
ment. They  had  got  in  by  the  kitchen  window 
(quite  an  easy  feat,  as  we  knew  well)  ;  they  had 
broken  one  of  the  teaspoons  to  see  if  it  was  silver 
(experts  without  a  doubt).  They  had  taken  the 
big  epergne  with  the  stags  on  it  (pity  that  that 
should  go  into  the  pot,  for  no  doubt  they  would 
melt  it  down).  There  was  a  strong  impression 
(quite  unsupported  by  evidence)  that  they  had 
been  armed  with  revolvers.     Finally  there  was 


When  the  Burglars  Came  155 

the  dramatic  incident  of  the  desk  in  the  library. 
That  was  the  climax  of  the  story,  and  even  to 
this  day  the  patched  desk  remains  to  tell  the  tale. 
A  part  of  the  lid  had  been  chipped  away  with  a 
chisel  (or  let  us  hope  with  some  more  unholy 
tool,  known  only  to  the  profession),  but  before 
it  had  been  forced  open  an  interruption  must 
have  occurred.  They  had  fled,  with  the  job 
but  half  complete,  and  there  was  no  doubt  that 
the  desk  contained  an  enormous  sum  of  money. 

There  were  already  three  separate  theories  in 
the  field  as  to  where  they  had  surmounted  the 
wall,  but  a  splendid  clue  had  been  discovered  in 
the  shrubbery  by  Old  John  Gardener.  (What  a 
man  he  was  for  a  job  of  this  sort !)  There  could  be 
seen  footprints,  no  less,  guarded  by  a  policeman, 
and  covered  by  a  plank,  lest  they  should  be  effaced. 
This  was  where  they  had  stood  watching  the  light 
in  the  night-nursery  till  it  went  out  and  the 
moment  came  for  action.  We  shuddered  when 
we  thought  of  that  silent  vigil  beneath  our  very 
windows,  picturing  to  ourselves  these  two  aban- 
doned men  (fingering  revolvers)  approaching 
their  nefarious  work.  Later  a  part  of  the  blade 
of  a  broken  penknife  came  to  light  in  the 
kitchen  window.    Here  was  a  certain  clue.    We 


1 5  6  Days  of  Discovery 

should  be  all  right  now.  And  yet  one  might  have 
hoped  that  they  had  forced  the  window  with 
something  more  professional  than  a  penknife.  It 
ought  to  have  been  a  jemmy.  We  began  to  feel 
that  they  were  losing  caste.  It  was  rumoured 
that  the  poHceman  had  already  spoken  of  them 
as  mere  amateurs. 

After  the  first  excitement  had  gone  by  and  life 
had  resumed  its  normal  lines  we  had  the  greatest 
difficulty  in  gathering  any  further  information. 
It  was  adjudged  best  that  we  should  be  kept  in 
ignorance  and  allowed  to  forget  the  disturbing 
episode.  No  one  would  tell  us  anything  of  the 
chase  and  the  capture.  No  one  would  even  refer 
to  the  Event.  Except  that  Sidney  now  slept 
upstairs,  everything  went  on  as  before.  But 
after  a  time  stray Jacts  escaped  the  censor.  There 
was  some  talk  of  a  landlady  who,  peering  through 
a  keyhole,  had  thought  it  strange  to  see  "  silver 
stags  "  on  the  floor  of  the  room  ;  and  of  one  mis- 
creant who  had  basely  left  his  accomplice  in  the 
lurch,  with  a  heavy  trunk  to  transport  by  night, 
and  vanished.  And  then  the  lost  property  re- 
appeared. It  was  all  over  then  ?  Not  quite.  For 
a  full  month  later  came  the  news  that  the  ab- 
sconding accomplice  had  been  taken  in  a  city  in 


When  the  Burglars  Came  157 

the  Midlands — with  the  broken  penknife  in  his 
pocket !  But  we  could  never  make  a  coherent 
story  of  the  sequel.  We  were  cruelly  starved  of 
information,  and  could  only  surmise  the  course 
of  events,  picture  to  ourselves  the  great  scene  at 
the  trial,  and  guess  at  the  length  of  the  sentence. 
After  all,  it  was  perhaps  as  well  that  we  should 
begin  to  think  of  something  else.  It  was  a  glow- 
ing, thrilling  episode.  It  made  a  magnificent  story. 
For  some  time  it  cast  a  halo  of  romance  about  us 
in  our  dealings  with  the  children  in  the  house 
opposite.  But  these  great  gains  were  not  attained 
without  a  price.  It  was  not  pleasant  to  dream  of 
burglars.  It  became  the  custom  to  leave  the  gas 
on  until  one  was  asleep.  For  a  time  one  did  not 
go  alone  into  the  garden  after  dark ;  and  if  one 
happened  to  wake  in  the  night  a  disturbing  vision 
would  immediately  present  itself — of  two  masked 
figures  in  the  shrubbery  below. 


XXII 

PAINS  AND  PENALTIES 

There  was  nothing  drastic,  nothing  forcible 
about  the  forms  of  punishment  which  chiefly 
appealed  to  Those  in  Authority,  and  which  I  am 
to  suppose  contributed  their  quota  to  the  forma- 
tion of  the  character  that  I  now  possess.  Far 
be  it  from  me  to  attribute  to  these  methods  any 
measure  of  success  in  that  endeavour,  if  one  is  to 
judge  them  only  by  results.  But  I  have  always 
held  them  in  high  esteem,  both  for  their  perfect 
simplicity  and  for  the  undoubted  mastery  with 
which  they  obtained  their  immediate  object. 
Castigation,  fine  or  imprisonment  would  have 
been,  I  know,  more  easily  endured,  and  therefore 
less  effective  than  this  admirable  and  artless 
system  of  punishment  by  boredom.  It  was 
nothing  more  than  a  forced  pause  in  the  headlong 
course  of  one's  life,  the  imposition  of  a  period 
of  inactivity,  unevent fulness,  and  therefore  in- 
tolerable dulness.     In  later  life  it  may  well  be 

158 


Pains  and  Penalties  159 

that  one  would  find  it  no  great  hardship  to  have 
to  sit  for  an  hour  on  a  chair  and  do  nothing — 
indeed,  I  think  there  are  days  with  some  of  us 
when  we  would  gladly  welcome  such  a  programme 
were  there  anyone  of  a  sufficient  authority  to 
enforce  it.  But  it  was  not  so  then.  And  to  be 
sent  to  bed  an  hour  before  one's  usual  time  would 
to  many  of  us  now  be  a  luxury  and  a  satisfaction. 
Then  one  regretted  bitterly  that  one  lost  hour 
which  could  never  be  recovered. 

The  punishment  of  sitting  on  chairs  was  de- 
rived, it  may  be,  from  the  ancient  institution  of 
the  stocks ;  certainly  it  was  related  to  it,  in  that 
one  was  thereby  subjected  to  the  jibes  and  sar- 
casm of  the  passer-by.  If  one  had  a  brother 
engaged  at  the  time  on  any  engrossing  or  exciting 
pursuit  it  was  natural  that  he  should  bring  it  into 
the  room  where  one  was  thus  detained  and  spread 
it  forth  and  gloat  over  it ;  while  through  the 
open  window  came  joyous  shouts  of  freedom, 
hardly  called  for  by  the  nature  of  the  occasion. 
And  there  one  sat  with  set  teeth  and  clouded 
brow,  going  through  with  it  to  the  best  of  one's 
poor  ability,  trying  to  concentrate  one's  ever- 
wandering  thoughts  upon  some  subject  that 
would  help  the  time  to  pass,  trying  above  all  not 


1 60  Days  of  Discovery 

to  look  at  the  clock  ;  though  ever  and  anon  one's 
eyes  would  be  drawn  there  by  a  dreadful  fascina- 
tion. The  jaunty  and  casual  air  with  which  one 
had  taken  up  one's  position  had  barely  outlasted 
the  first  five  minutes :  it  had  been  followed  by 
a  state  of  wriggling  impatience  that  grew  ever  in 
intensity.  Of  course  a  whole  hour  was  a  tremen- 
dous sentence — I  fancy  it  was  equivalent  to  about 
three  months'  hard  labour  in  later  life — and  no 
bird  escaping  from  the  fowler's  snare  can  have 
felt  a  greater  relief  and  exultation  than  the 
prisoner  when  at  last  the  minute  hand  would 
creep  round  again  to  its  starting-place  and  he 
could  kick  the  chair  away  and  scamper  forth. 

To  be  sent  to  bed  an  hour  before  one's  time 
carried  with  it  a  certain  sting  that  added  greatly 
to  its  mortification.  It  was  not  so  much  a  ques- 
tion of  it  being  before  the  usual  time,  as  of  it 
being  before  one's  small  sister.  That  was  an 
indignity,  an  encroachment  upon  one's  just 
rights.  But  quite  apart  from  that  it  was  terrible 
to  have  the  day  cut  short.  I  like  to  think  of  that 
and  to  remember  that  there  was  a  time  when 
every  separate  day  was  a  special  gift  and  a  vast 
opportunity,  when  it  was  a  poignant  loss  to  have 
it  even  thus  curtailed.     But  on  those  occasions 


Pa{?js  and  Penalties  i6i 

when  I  was  the  victim  of  this  sad  experience 
there  came  at  last  to  me  a  certain  fortunate 
philosophy  which  was  infinitely  comforting.  For 
I  reflected  that  the  sooner  I  was  safe  in  bed  and 
sound  asleep  (and  the  two  were  almost  simul- 
taneous) the  nearer  I  had  come  to  To-morrow. 
In  a  way  one  might  count  the  episode,  if  one 
reflected  calmly,  as  a  gain.  For  one  was  actually 
nearer  by  a  whole  hour  than  those  others,  still 
downstairs,  to  To-morrow.  And  splendid  as 
To-day  had  been  it  was  never  comparable  with 
To-morrow. 

The  dreadful  experience  of  sitting  on  chairs 
reached  its  climax  on  a  memorable  Saturday  when 
we  had  forgotten  that  one  of  Those  in  Authority 
would  return  from  the  ofiice  early  in  the  after- 
noon instead  of  after  tea.  I  know  not  how  it 
came  about  that  the  moated  castle  we  had  built 
was  allowed  to  degenerate  into  a  pool  of  liquid 
mud,  or  which  of  us  it  was  that  had  conceived 
the  idea  of  playing  a  new  form  of  hunt-the- 
slipper  in  its  horrid  depths,  but  when  the  sport 
was  at  its  height  the  gate  from  the  Field  Below 
opened  and  we  remembered — that  it  was  Saturday. 
We  were  caught,  one  might  say  with  literal  truth, 
red-handed.     The  sentences  were   very  heavy, 


1 62  Days  of  Discovery 

as  was  inevitable,  and  on  the  same  evening,  when 
they  were  carried  out,  every  sitting-room  in  the 
house  was  requisitioned,  and  for  a  silent  hour 
each  held  its  wriggling  victim  on  a  chair.  So 
fully  was  the  available  space  occupied  indeed 
that  Sidney  was  relegated  to  the  summer-house  ; 
and  I,  who  was  only  "  doing  half-an-hour,"  on 
the  theory  that  I  had  been  led  astray,  had  at 
least  the  satisfaction  of  adjourning  there,  when 
my  own  time  was  up,  and  making  faces  at  him 
through  the  window. 

A  sort  of  combination  of  these  two  forms  of 
punishment  was  tried  once,  I  remember,  on  a 
Sunday  when  we  escaped  from  going  to  church 
by  hiding  in  the  rhubarb.  It  was  not  that  we 
objected  to  church  in  any  special  degree  ;  it  was 
rather  that  we  could  not  resist  the  rhubarb, 
which  at  that  time  had  grown  long  and  rank  and 
splendidly  dense.  It  was  such  a  perfect  hiding- 
place  that  we  had  only  to  find  an  adequate  reason 
for  hiding,  and  to  escape  from  church  did  as 
well  as  any  other.  It  was  splendid  to  hear  people 
calling  one's  name  within  a  few  yards  of  where 
one  lay,  when  one  could  actually  peer  out  and 
see  their  legs.  And  when  all  was  still  we  crept 
forth  and  began  to  wonder  and  discuss  "  how 


Pains  and  Penalties  163 

long  we  would  get."  It  was  decreed  that  we  go 
to  bed  in  the  afternoon  !  But  that  as  a  punitive 
experiment  failed  of  its  object.  It  was  an  in- 
novation, and  therefore  interesting.  It  was 
almost  an  adventure.  To  be  in  bed  in  broad  sun- 
shine, when  one  was  quite  well !  It  was  alto- 
gether too  amusing  a  situation  to  depress. 

But  by  far  the  most  effective  form  of  punish- 
ment to  which  we  were  subjected  was  the  dread 
Apology.  It  is  hard  in  later  life — it  is,  I  think, 
especially  hard  for  newspaper  editors  and  Mem- 
bers of  Parliament — to  apologize.  It  is  almost 
impossible,  in  my  experience,  for  a  small  boy. 
Well  do  I  remember  a  hideous  day  of  dark  re- 
beUion  when  this  awful  task  was  put  upon  me. 
We  had  been  throwing  snowballs  at  the  pupils 
next  door  as  they  came  out  two  by  two  from  the 
gate  of  Olinda  and  one  at  least  had  found  its 
billet.  I  was  adjudged  the  culprit,  not  because 
I  was  the  eldest,  nor  yet  because  I  had  first  thought 
of  it,  but  because  I  alone  had  succeeded,  where 
all  had  tried,  in  hitting  the  mark.  And  that 
rankled  deeply.  It  was  decreed  that  I  call  on 
the  Lady  Principal  and  apologize.  For  the  rest 
of  that  day  I  was  torn  and  tortured  by  a  strange 
and  mordant  shame.    I  shunned  the  rest  of  the 


1 64  Days  of  Discovery 

company  and  brooded  in  seclusion.  And  then 
with  a  sort  of  wild  unthinking  dash  I  seized  my 
cap  and  ran,  never  stopping  for  a  moment  till 
I  had  pulled  the  bell.  In  broken,  half-defiant 
tones  I  got  it  over.  The  lady,  to  my  great  sur- 
prise, made  little  of  it,  and  talked  of  the  pleasure 
of  snowbalHng,  and  asked  me  to  stay  to  tea.  I 
think  she  understood  what  I  had  been  through. 
And  I  returned  an  hour  later  with  a  calm  and 
equal  mind.  But  the  incident  had  scored  itself 
deep  upon  my  fickle  memory.  I  never  now  throw 
snowballs  at  girls'  schools. 


XXIII 

7HE  BEAST  IN  THE  HEDGE 

I  BEGIN  to  relate  at  last  the  true  story  of  the  Beast, 
in  the  certain  and  depressing  knowledge  that  it 
will  not  and  cannot  be  believed  by  any  rational 
person.  To  the  reader  it  must  ever  be  that 
least  satisfactory  form  of  narrative,  a  mystery 
without  an  explanation.  In  cold  matter  of  fact, 
it  may  appear  to  many  something  worse  than  that 
— an  untrue  statement  quite  unsupported  by 
proof.  I  am  afraid  I  cannot  help  that.  Child- 
hood is  so  full  of  mystery,  of  unreality,  of  ques- 
tions without  an  answer,  of  effects  without  cause, 
and  a  child  lives  so  completely  in  a  realm  of 
fantasy,  that  for  myself  I  have  ever  freely 
accepted  the  Beast  as  a  phenomenon  belonging 
to  the  Golden  Age,  and  quite  in  harmony  with 
the  magic  atmosphere  of  a  world  that  was  new 
every  morning. 

I  do  not  so  much  mind  being  told  that  the 
whole  thing  was  a  figment  of  our  imagination — 

165 


1 66  Days  of  Discovery 

though  I  do  not  believe  it  for  a  moment — but  I 
will  not  be  told  that  our  Beast  was  a  weasel,  a 
fox,  a  cat,  a  badger,  or  any  other  known  quad- 
ruped, for  it  was  not.  And,  further,  I  will  not 
be  told  that  it  had  escaped  from  a  menagerie. 
Have  I  not  diligently  searched  the  Zoo  and  found 
there  nothing  even  remotely  like  it  ? 

The  affair  of  the  Beast  stamped  itself  upon  my 
memory  as  a  splendid  and  vivid  incident,  a  revela- 
tion to  be  treasured  in  retrospect,  and  shared 
with  my  two  companions  as  an  experience  that 
belonged  to  us  alone.  We  have  always  shunned 
prosaic  explanations  and  belittling  solutions  of 
the  problem.  For  we  are  severely  loyal  to  our 
Beast.  We  are  quite  clear  that  there  is  nothing 
to  explain.  If  it  was  Magic — well,  I  suppose  we 
may  let  it  go  at  that.  It  only  remains  to  relate 
the  whole  history  of  the  affair  from  my  own 
recollection  of  it,  which  is  perfectly  adequate  to 
the  smallest  detail. 

We  were  playing — we  three — on  the  lawn  at 
the  foot  of  the  garden  one  bright  and  sunny 
afternoon,  when  the  air  was  full  of  the  sour, 
sappy  smell  of  fresh-cut  grass  and  the  stillness 
of  the  lazy  hour  was  over  all  things.  There  was  a 
short,  steep  bank  leading  down  to  the  bottom 


The  Beast  in  the   Hedge  167 

lawn,  which  was  bounded  by  the  Walk  and  the 
old  thorn  hedge.  Immediately  beyond  the  hedge 
was  a  four-foot  wall  of  stone,  marking  the  drop 
to  the  level  of  the  Field  Below,  and  in  the  roots 
of  the  hedge  were  holes  and  crannies  where  one 
could  crawl  in  and  lie  invisible  from  either  side. 
It  was  a  favourite  hiding-place,  and  we  were 
familiar  with  every  yard  of  it.  We  had  for  the 
moment  finished  our  game — a  sort  of  develop- 
ment of  croquet  with  the  added  spice  of  interest 
supplied  by  pitching  the  hoops  on  the  slope  of 
the  bank,  for  we  were  ever  incapable  of  playing 
any  game  according  to  its  accepted  rules — and  we 
were  resting  listlessly  upon  the  steps,  when  we 
were  startled  by  a  sound. 

I  am  at  a  loss  quite  how  to  describe  it,  though 
I  believe  that  I  could  still  imitate  it  faithfully. 
Something  between  a  cough  and  a  bark,  let  us 
say,  but  very  minute  and  unassuming.  Yet  it 
arrested  our  attention,  and  we  were  all  three 
looking  straight  at  the  hedge  when  the  Beast 
appeared.  It  hopped  up  from  the  lower  level 
among  the  roots,  resting  its  forefeet  upon  the 
turf  ;  perhaps  I  should  say  it  "  bobbed  "  up, 
just  as  one  has  seen  a  stoat  rising  in  the  grass  to 
listen.     There  it  was  in  the  full  light  of  day, 


1 68  Days  of  Discovery 

looking  straight  at  us.  For  some  few  seconds 
it  remained  motionless,  taking  in  the  situation, 
then  it  shook  its  head,  sprang  up  on  to  the  turf, 
ran  along  the  hedge  with  a  sort  of  eager,  pattering 
gallop,  looking  neither  to  the  right  nor  the  left, 
for  about  thirty  yards,  paused  for  a  moment, 
and  dived  back  again  out  of  sight.  There  had 
been  nothing  alarming  about  its  appearance,  and 
we  lost  no  time  in  rushing  over  to  the  spot  where 
it  had  gone  out  of  sight.  Diligently  we  searched 
the  hedge  and  the  Field  Below,  prodding  in  all 
the  crevices  and  turning  up  the  fallen  leaves. 
But  we  found  no  trace.  The  Beast  had  vanished. 
I  have  never  met  with  it  again,  and  I  do  not 
expect  to  do  so.  But  I  know  that  should  it  ever 
come  across  my  path  I  shall  have  no  difficulty 
whatever  in  recognizing  it. 

And  now  I  must  describe  it — and  here  you  will 
laugh  at  me.  It  was  perhaps  eighteen  inches  in 
length,  and  its  colour  was  of  a  foxy  red.  It  gave 
one,  when  running  along  the  hedge  so  that  one 
had  a  full  side  view,  a  strong  impression  of  being 
tapered  off.  That  is  to  say,  it  fell  away  in  a  sort 
of  wedge-shape,  from  a  bold  head  and  shoulders 
to  a  small,  sloping  back,  weak  little  hind-legs, 
and  a  sleek,  dwindling  tail  like  a  rat.     I  am  in 


The  Beast  in  the  Hedge  169 

difficulties  when  I  come  to  describe  its  head  and 
face,  for  while  it  bore  a  very  close  resemblance 
to  a  full-grown  lion — there  is  no  question  about 
its  mane,  which  was  very  clearly  marked — there 
was  somehow  about  it  (I  know  it  is  absurd)  a 
strong  suggestion  of  a  horse.  Perhaps  I  cannot 
put  it  more  clearly  than  to  say  that  while  it  had 
the  features  of  a  lion  it  had  the  ex'pression  of  a 
horse.  It  shook  its  head  curiously.  There  was 
nothing,  as  I  have  said,  alarming  or  savage  in 
its  aspect.  Rather  was  it  a  merry  little  beast, 
extraordinarily  active  and  alert.  Its  coat  would 
appear  to  have  been  rough  rather  than  sleek, 
and  it  was  well  proportioned  in  its  way.  The 
only  point  that  seemed  incongruous  was  its  feeble 
little  tail.  I  am  afraid  I  can  say  no  more  of  its 
bark.  We  only  heard  it  once  and  then  quite 
indistinctly. 

It  is  a  preposterous  story,  is  it  not  ?  I  hope 
no  one  will  waste  time  on  any  fruitless  efforts 
at  identification.  Rather  take  it  from  me  that 
this  beast  cannot  be  whittled  down  and  classified 
— that  that  was  simply  how  it  was.  As  soon  as 
it  had  disappeared,  we  returned  to  the  bank  and 
sat  down  to  face  the  situation.  First  we  must 
compare   notes   as  to  our   various  impressions. 


1 70  Days  of  Discovery 

On  all  leading  points  we  were  entirely  agreed. 
It  was  the  same  thing  that  we  had  seen.  There 
was  some  slight  discussion  upon  the  question  of 
the  tail,  one  of  us  likening  it  rather  to  that  of 
a  cat.  The  tail  I  have  given,  I  should  explain, 
is  my  own  tail.  But  there  were  no  other  dis- 
agreements. The  question  then  arose  as  to 
"  what  we  were  to  do  about  it."  The  matter 
was  one  of  tremendous  importance,  and  we  must 
decide  upon  some  common  line  of  action  before 
we  mixed  again  with  our  fellow-men.  And  here 
the  eldest  and  wisest  of  the  trio  declared  our 
line  of  conduct.  We  must  keep  it  dark,  he  said. 
It  was  no  use.  We  would  not  be  believed.  We 
would  certainly  be  laughed  at.  He  for  one  was 
not  going  to  subject  himself  to  that.  We  knew 
what  we  knew.  Let  us  keep  it  to  ourselves.  And 
for  some  years  the  secret  was  loyally  kept.  I 
think  my  relations  with  my  two  accomplices  owed 
a  good  deal  to  the  Beast.  It  was  a  powerful  bond 
between  us,  and  in  later  life  when  the  time  came 
when  we  confessed  the  incredible  experience  we 
were  always  ready  to  support  and  corroborate 
each  other. 

Even    now    that    strange,    glowing,    common 
memory   remains.     My   two   accomplices   have 


The  Beast  in  the  Hedge  171 

travelled  far  since  then,  and  in  the  course  of 
their  journey  they  have  no  doubt,  like  others, 
found  something  of  disillusionment,  much  to 
call  forth  scepticism.  But  I  know  v^ell  that  even 
now  either  of  them  will  readily  endorse  this 
statement  that  I  have  made — save,  perhaps,  in 
the  matter  of  the  tail ;  there  I  must  be  allowed 
to  hold  my  own  opinion.  It  belongs  to  the  cate- 
gory of  a  clear  and  definite  experience.  They 
are  loyal  as  ever  to  the  memory  of  the  Beast. 
And  let  me  ask  my  reader  ere  he  dismiss  with 
contempt  this  humble  narrative,  has  he  not  also, 
if  he  will  pause  and  search  for  it,  some  treasured 
memory  of  years  ago,  that  is  akin  to  this  of  mine  ; 
some  vivid,  clear  experience  that  he  cannot  defend 
which  yet  would  leave  behind  a  certain  sense  of 
loss  were  it  explained  away  ? 


XXIV 

THE  COMING  OF  COURTEST 

The  assimilation  of  new  ideas  may  be  regarded 
as  the  chief  business  and  occupation  of  the 
nursery.  The  tram  conductor's  method  of 
sharpening  a  pencil,  the  trick  of  the  butcher's 
boy  of  wearing  his  cap  backwards,  Old  John 
Gardener's  red  handkerchief.  Uncle  Henry's 
violent  method  of  blowing  his  nose — each  of 
these  was  in  its  turn  matter  for  consideration  ; 
each  had  to  be  weighed,  and  either  dismissed  as 
impracticable  or  incorporated  forthwith  among 
one's  daily  habits.  From  every  side  and  through 
all  manner  of  different  channels  new  ideas  kept 
presenting  themselves  with  bewildering  rapidity, 
and  while  many  of  them  were  no  doubt  accepted 
quite  unconsciously,  others  must  be  subjected 
to  a  deliberate  process  of  examination  before 
they  could  be  confidently  adopted,  often  with 
grave  searchings  of  soul. 

172 


The  Coming  of  Courtesy  173 

To  no  small  extent  one's  conduct  and  deport- 
ment were,  of  course,  shaped  and  modified  by 
coercion  from  without.  At  every  turn  one  came 
up  against  a  certain  meaningless  code  of  small 
restrictions,  known  as  Manners.  It  was  no  use 
fighting  against  that.  Purely  with  a  view  to  a 
quiet  life,  you  had  to  make  concessions  there  ; 
and  this  was  all  the  more  easily  done  as  the  de- 
mands made  upon  you  in  this  respect  were  of  a 
wildly  unmeaning  nature — suflficiently  annoying 
no  doubt  to  one  who  preferred  to  choose  his  own 
course  even  in  the  smallest  details,  but  perfectly 
harmless  in  themselves.  Really  if  it  gave  Those 
in  Authority  any  pleasure  to  see  you  taking  soup 
noiselessly  and  by  small  instalments,  you  would 
hardly  care  to  make  a  fuss  about  it.  Your  attitude 
was  akin  to  that  of  the  smiling  prize-fighter  who 
was  belaboured  by  his  wife  and  family :  "  It 
pleases  them,  and  it  doesn't  hurt  me."  Again,  since 
they  preferred  to  make  a  special  point  of  it,  you 
could  no  doubt  find  other  and  more  subtle 
methods  of  conveying  your  exasperation  than 
by  slamming  the  door.  That  was  better  in 
the  long  run  than  the  humiliating  exercise, 
often  repeated,  of  coming  back  and  shutting  it 
quietly. 


174  Days  of  Discovery 

It  was  by  more  or  less  conscious  imitation  for 
the  most  part  that  one  fashioned  one's  ever- 
varying  conduct  and  behaviour.  But  it  seems  to 
me,  as  I  look  back  upon  it,  that  the  process  was 
a  very  curious  one,  obscure  and  indirect.  For 
it  was  not  by  observation  of  Grown-up  Persons 
that  hints  of  value  could  be  obtained.  They 
belonged  clearly  to  a  different  world,  wholly 
artificial  and  remote,  governed  by  no  compre- 
hensible laws,  and  only  to  be  imitated  in  a  spirit 
of  hilarious  ridicule.  Their  actions  were  for  the 
most  part  unaccountable  and  their  habits  were 
generally  to  be  honoured  in  the  breach.  And  yet 
as  time  went  on  one  was  approaching  more  and 
more  to  their  standards  without  directly  admitting 
the  soundness  of  them.  It  was  as  if  their  customs 
and  observances  had  to  filter  down  from  the  higher 
level  to  the  lower  through  some  channel  that  we 
could  accept  and  understand.  Thus  we  would 
never  have  dreamed  of  admiring  the  view  from 
the  drawing-room  windows  simply  because  we 
had  invariably  heard  it  admired  by  visitors,  but  if 
the  boy  in  the  house  opposite  (who  had  been  to 
London)  expressed  any  satisfaction  in  the  pros- 
pect one  had  to  reconsider  one's  attitude.    There 


The  Coming  of  Courtesy  175 

might  well  be  something  admirable  in  it  after 
all. 

It  was  an  enormous  work  of  civilization 
amounting  almost  to  a  complete  reversal  of  our 
whole  outlook  upon  life  that  was  compassed  by 
these  means  within  a  few  short  years.  The  dark 
age  of  barbarism,  when  Grown-ups  were  a  race 
apart,  when  girls  were  a  negligible  and  inferior 
order  of  being,  when  might  was  right,  when 
refinement  was  the  outward  sign  of  weakness  and 
effeminacy  (all  very  well  for  girls),  must  give 
place  to  consideration  for  other  people,  to  some 
measure  of  gentleness,  even  to  some  measure  of 
humility.  But  the  process  was  not  carried  out 
imperceptibly  or  even  by  gradations.  Rather 
was  it  in  the  nature  of  a  series  of  sharp 
shocks. 

There  was  a  time  when  clean  finger-nails  were 
not  only  a  wholly  unnecessary  adornment  but  in 
themselves  a  folly  and  extravagance.  They 
savoured  of  foppery.  They  aroused  direct  op- 
position in  the  mind  of  one  who  took  a  vigorous 
and  healthy  view  of  life.  I  remember  when  it 
seemed  to  me,  quite  honestly,  that  a  hand  in 
which   each  nail  was   monotonously   clean   and 


176  Days  of  Discovery 

symmetrically  pared  could  hardly  be  looked  upon 
as  the  hand  of  a  man,  in  the  best  sense.  And  it 
distressed  me  to  find  this  miserable  foible  adopted 
by  one  whom  I  whole-heartedly  admired  for  many 
excellent  qualities,  not  the  least  of  them  his 
ability  to  turn  cart-wheels  and  his  startling  skill 
in  making  paper  windmills.  I  remember  reflect- 
ing upon  the  strange  mixtures  that  one  met 
with  in  human  character.  I  supposed  I  must 
overlook  it,  try  to  forget  it.  But  what  a  thunder- 
ing good  fellow  he  would  have  been  had  he  not 
fallen  into  this  sad  weakness ! 

There  came  a  day  when  I  found  my  cousin 
Peter,  older  by  some  years  than  I  and  no  small 
hero  in  my  eyes,  lustily  plying  a  nail-brush. 
This  was  a  direct  challenge.  I  remonstrated 
with  him,  jeered  at  him.  I  pursued  him  for 
the  rest  of  the  day  with  sarcastic  comments, 
and  I  was  so  far  successful  that  he  gave  up 
the  practice  for  a  time.  But  he  soon  returned 
to  it,  and  was  not  again  to  be  shaken  from  his 
resolve.  And  for  a  while  I  was  as  one  who 
had  lost  a  friend  and  ally.  It  was  to  me  as 
if  he  had  gone  over  to  the  enemy,  and  I  could 
view  it  in  no  other  light.  He  had  practically 
admitted  the  justice  of  the  tyrannous  and  op- 


The  Coming  of  Courtesy  177 

pressive  code  beneath  which  we  lived.  He  had 
taken  up  his  stand  as  the  champion  of  Manners. 
Yet  I  could  not  hold  out.  I  would  find  myself 
looking  furtively  at  my  own  hands  in  odd  mo- 
ments. I  was  no  longer  quite  satisfied  about 
them.  I  began  to  wonder  what  they  would 
look  like  if  I — as  a  mere  jest — were  also  to 
cleanse  and  pare  my  nails.  And  at  last,  one 
evening  when  the  coast  was  clear,  shamefacedly 
I  crept  into  the  bathroom. 

Thus  also  came  the  rudiments  of  Courtesy,  as  a 
new  revealing  light  upon  our  path.  For  myself 
I  remember  vividly  the  moment  of  its  coming 
and  the  shock  that  I  sustained.  I  cannot  date 
any  startling  change  in  my  way  of  life  from  that 
hour  ;  the  new  pervading  influence  worked  slowly, 
and  it  is  only  too  probable  that  its  mission  is  not 
now  complete.  Yet  it  was  a  sudden  conversion, 
shattering  my  former  ideals,  setting  up  fresh 
standards  in  their  place. 

Sidney,  my  eldest  brother,  had  been  spending 
a  whole  summer  holiday  with  Uncle  John  in 
Ireland,  and  had  come  back  with  a  bewildering 
wealth  of  new  habits,  new  pursuits,  new  expres- 
sions with  which  to  permeate  the  nursery.  We 
were  playing  rounders  in  the  Field  Below  and  it 


178  Days  of  Discovery 

so  happened  that,  in  taking  a  drive  at  a  full- 
pitch,  he  hit  me  with  some  force  in  the  eye.  It 
was  excruciatingly  painful,  but  I  forgot  the  pain 
in  a  moment  in  sheer  amazement  at  his  subse- 
quent behaviour.  For  he  strode  up  to  me  at 
once,  put  a  hand  upon  my  shoulder,  and — said 
he  was  sorry  !  He — to  me  !  Now  we  had  of 
course  learned  the  use  of  the  perfunctory  apology 
in  dealing  with  Grown-up  Persons.  It  was 
employed  glibly  enough  if  one  trod  on  the  toe 
of  a  caller.  But  that  was  only  Manners.  That 
an  accidental  injury  inflicted  upon  one  of  your 
brothers  could  possibly  call  for  any  expression  of 
regret  (beyond  that  of  telling  him  he  was  a  fool 
for  getting  in  the  way)  was  so  astounding  a  dis- 
covery that  I  could  only  continue  the  game  as 
one  in  a  dream,  and  sought  solitude  in  the  potting- 
shed  as  soon  as  it  was  over.  There  I  sat  on  an 
upturned  box  wrestling  with  this  new  situation. 
Had  it  been  anyone  else  I  should  have  laughed 
it  to  scorn.  But  Sidney  could  not  be  wrong.  If 
he  had  done  it,  it  must — incredible  though  it 
might  seem — nevertheless  be  the  right  thing 
to  do. 

When  at  last  I  came  in  to  tea  I  was  no  longer 
satisfied  that  my  former  way  of  life  had  been  so 


The  Coming  of  Courtesy  179 

perfect  as  I  had  believed  it  to  be.  I  was  face  to 
face  with  a  new  vista  in  human  relationships.  I 
was  beginning  to  suspect  that  I  should  have  to 
start  all  over  again. 


XXV 

IN  THE  TRAIN 

I  THINK  there  was  no  date  in  all  the  year,  not 
even  Christmas  Day,  that  stood  for  so  much  in 
the  estimation  of  the  nursery  as  that  of  the 
migration  in  July  from  England  to  the  North. 
And  yet  I  do  not  beHeve  that  we  looked  much 
beyond  it  to  the  weeks  that  were  to  follow,  the 
summer  weeks  of  freedom  and  the  endless  days 
packed  full  with  vivid  interests  far  afield.  Rather 
was  the  central  object  of  our  burning  expectation 
the  journey  and  the  train.  For  myself  I  may 
safely  say  that  there  was  only  one  night  in  the 
year  when  sleep  forsook  me,  except  when  I  fell  a 
tossing  victim  to  the  toothache,  and  that  was  on 
the  eve  of  this,  our  annual  departure.  It  was 
idle  to  attempt  to  compose  for  slumber  a  mind 
so  ardently  ablaze  with  bright  anticipations.  We 
would  seem  to  have  chosen  quite  capriciously 
the  proper  opportunities  for  festival,  and  I  cannot 
remember  that  the  journey  home  in  October 

1 80 


In  the  Train  i8i 


ever  ranked  as  one  of  them.  But  the  journey  in 
July  loomed  large  in  the  imagination  weeks  ahead. 
I  sometimes  wonder  just  how  we  would  have 
regarded  the  modern  corridor  express  had  such 
been  our  conveyance  in  those  days.  No  doubt 
to  move  along  the  passage,  and  especially  to 
cross  from  one  coach  to  another — where  it  clanks 
underfoot — would  have  been  no  mean  adven- 
ture. To  lunch  in  the  dining-car  would  have 
been  of  course  tremendous,  were  it  permitted. 
But  it  is  more  than  likely  that  that  would  not 
have  been  in  the  programme  ;  at  least  it  must 
not  be  reckoned  on.  Again,  it  would  be  very 
good  to  enter  the  guard's  van  simply  by  opening 
a  little  door — there  is  often  a  dog  there,  chained 
to  the  wall  and  longing  for  companionship,  a 
calf  in  a  sack,  or  a  hamper  full  of  fowls,  besides 
the  piled  luggage,  well  worth  investigating  in 
itself.  Yet  on  consideration  I  strongly  incline  to 
the  belief  that  though  for  those  of  riper  years 
the  corridor  train  may  be  a  vast  advance  in  travel- 
ling methods,  for  small  boys  it  is  in  no  way  to  be 
compared  with  the  old  system  of  separate  car- 
riages. For  the  essence  of  the  thing  was  the 
splendid  isolation  of  one's  reserved  compartment. 
Here  was  a  seething  train,  full  of  restless,  hurrying 


1 82  Days  of  Discovery 

persons,  a  heterogeneous  crowd,  drawn  out,  as 
it  were,  into  a  long  thread  and  packed  away  into 
their  seats.  And  in  the  very  heart  of  the  con- 
fusion was  our  place  of  refuge,  reserved  by  means 
of  a  beautiful  blue  ticket  with  our  name  writ 
large  upon  it,  where  none  might  break  in  upon 
us.  For  those  few  hours  while  the  gay  world 
slipped  by  on  either  side  it  was  as  much  our  own 
as  the  cupboard  under  the  stairs,  except  for  the 
presence  of  Authority,  and  even  more  inviolate, 
for  did  not  a  cheerful  guard  come  up  and  lock 
us  in  ? 

The  better  to  mark  the  great  occasion,  which 
was  to  be  equipped  with  every  luxury,  we  had 
set  to  work  some  weeks  before  to  save  up  sweets. 
Sundry  sticks  of  chocolate-cream  fell  in  one's 
way  in  the  ordinary  course  of  life,  and  Those  in 
Authority  kept  a  store  in  the  dining-room  side- 
board of  other  welcome — if  all  too  wholesome — 
sweetmeats,  which  were  doled  out  at  proper 
seasons.  Sometimes  we  had  a  penny  or  two  to 
spend :  occasionally  we  gained  possession  of 
divers  pieces  of  preserved  ginger  at  dessert. 
There  were  many  sources  of  supply  ;  and  when 
all  these,  with  splendid  self-denial,  were  set  aside 
in  a  cardboard  box  in  one  of  the  drawers  in  the 


In  the  Train  183 


spare  bedroom  (for  who  would  ever  think  of 
looking  there  ?)  they  made  a  notable  agglomera- 
tion by  the  time  the  day  arrived  ;  so  that  upon 
the  journey  one  could  really  have  enough,  and 
no  need  to  consider  every  mouthful  with  refer- 
ence to  the  next.  But  sweetmeats  were  not  the 
only  form  of  hoarded  treasure.  If  anything  of 
note  in  those  few  weeks  had  come  our  way  as 
like  as  not  we  had  obeyed  the  instinct  to  "  save 
it  for  the  train."  I,  who  had  a  birthday  some  few 
days  before,  was  always  well  equipped,  and  each 
of  us  would  bring  his  contribution — of  a  new 
whistle  (most  appropriately  used  on  entering  into 
tunnels),  a  new  knife  (not  to  be  employed  upon 
the  Company's  property),  or  a  new  paint-box,  with 
which  one  could  do  no  more  than  test  the  colours 
with  a  licked  finger,  for  lack  of  water.  But  quite 
apart  from  all  these  occupations,  there  was  always 
lots  to  do  in  a  train. 

We  had  to  find  out  in  the  first  place  whether, 
supposing  we  had  not  got  a  ticket,  it  would  be 
possible  to  travel  under  the  seat,  as  people  do  in 
books.  Then  that  notice  on  the  edge  of  the  racks 
is  in  itself  a  challenge.  They  are  not  to  be  em- 
ployed for  heavy  luggage  ?  Well  and  good.  But 
what  constitutes  heavy  luggage  ?    Does  Archie  ? 


184  Days  of  Discovery 

Let's  try  him.  Those  racks  are  a  good  deal  stronger 
than  the  Company  makes  out.  And  then  there 
are  the  stations,  and  Archie  must  be  allowed  a 
place  at  the  window  to  draw  an  engine,  before 
the  train  starts  again,  and  Colin  wants  to  have 
some  friendly  badinage  with  his  special  chum, 
the  guard  ;  and  I  must  buy  a  newspaper  for  a 
table-cloth — a  penny  is  always  allowed  for  that 
— for  lunch  time  is  at  hand.  And  there  is  always 
the  open  question  for  debate  as  to  "  how  quick 
she  is  going."  One  must  pause  to  listen  to  the 
engine  tugging  on  the  way  up  Shap,  and  to 
watch  the  fences  fly  past  on  the  way  down.  Then 
there  are  those  bewildering  telegraph  wires  which 
keep  rising  and  falling  and  flowing  along  all  the 
time,  with  a  sort  of  twinkle  at  every  post.  Best 
of  all  there  is  the  segret  interchange  of  messages 
with  the  servants  in  the  carriage  behind.  That  is 
magnificent.  You  write  the  message  on  a  scrap 
of  paper  and  tie  it  firmly  to  a  piece  of  string,  and 
then  it  is  paid  out  into  the  whistling  gale  by  slow 
degrees  until  one  feels  a  tug  that  indicates  that  it 
has  safely  come  to  hand.  It  is  not  at  all  unlike 
deep-sea  fishing. 

Then  there  is  one  point,  and  only  one,  where 
you  can  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  sea.    That  is  not 


/;;  the    Train  185 


a  thing  to  miss,  nor  the  big  viaduct  near  Lowgill, 
nor  the  Border.  That  is  a  climax.  It  is  customary 
to  begin  talking  broad  Scotch  at  once  when  it  is 
passed.  But  the  real  train-game,  of  which  I 
know  well  we  had  by  no  means  a  monopoly,  is  a 
sedentary,  almost  intellectual  form  of  sport.  It 
filled  a  useful  place  in  the  latter  part  of  the 
journey,  when  your  more  explosive  energies  had 
abated  and  you  were  at  last  content  to  sit  still. 
We  had  elaborated  the  simple  outlines  of  this 
time-honoured  device  for  keeping  children  quiet 
on  a  journey  till  we  felt  we  had  in  a  measure  made 
it  our  own.  It  was  played  by  two  teams  of  two 
players  each,  stationed  at  the  opposite  windows, 
thus  occupying  all  four  corners  of  the  compart- 
ment, and  the  winning  side  was  that  which 
reached  a  hundred  first.  The  umpire,  who  had 
to  act  promptly  at  either  side,  hovered  feverishly 
between.  I  cannot  exactly  undertake  to  remem- 
ber the  code  in  detail,  but  I  think  the  points 
scored  were  something  like  the  following.  For  a 
cow,  one — there  were  always  lots  of  cows ;  for  a 
dog,  three  ;  for  a  wind-mill,  ten  ;  for  a  carriage 
and  pair,  twelve.  These  were  the  ordinary 
counters,  the  pawns  in  the  game.  But  there  were 
also  prizes  of  far  greater  value.    Thus,  for  a  black 


1 86  Days  of  Discovery 

sheep,  twenty  ;  for  a  white  horse  looking  over  a 
gate,  forty-jive  ;  for  a  donkey,  fifty  ;  and  for  a 
flock  of  sheep  on  the  road,  Game  I 

And  so  the  last  hour  slipped  away,  till  we 
found  ourselves  in  the  country  that  we  knew. 
At  each  fresh  landmark  there  were  shouts  of  keen 
excitement  at  the  windows  such  as  even  a  white 
horse  looking  over  a  gate  had  not  evoked.  And 
then  we  found  we  were  slowing  down,  the 
last  bridge  resounded  hollow  beneath  us,  famiHar 
cries  were  heard,  the  train  drew  up,  and  the 
Scotch  guard  with  the  great  red  beard  came,  key 
in  hand,  to  set  us  free.  I  think  the  shepherd  with 
a  collie  at  his  feet  who  took  our  place  in  the 
empty  carriage  would  hardly  get  so  much  out 
of  his  journey  as  we  had  done.  We  thought  he 
looked  rather  bored  and  weary  as  he  settled  in 
his  corner,  and  I  fear  he  did  not  understand  as 
we  did  the  art  of  travel ;  for  there  is  plenty  to  do 
in  a  train. 


XXVI 

ABOUT  BEING  IN  THE  MIDDLE 

I  ONCE  met  one  old  gentleman  who  understood. 
He  lifted  from  me  in  a  moment  all  that  sense  of 
injustice,  of  harsh  treatment  at  the  hands  of 
Fate,  which  I  had  been  harbouring  in  secret. 
He  left  me  with  a  memory  which  served  to  drive 
it  out  in  the  time  to  come.  He  even  elevated 
my  dreary  intermediate  state  to  a  special  signifi- 
cance, and  gave  it  a  new  value  in  my  eyes.  For 
it  is,  vdthout  question,  something  of  a  tragedy 
of  childhood — to  be  in  the  middle. 

I  know  now,  on  looking  back,  that  it  was  only 
for  a  few  months,  when  the  two  cliques  on  either 
side  hardened  their  hearts  against  me,  that  I 
had  any  real  grievance  on  this  score.  But  the 
peculiar  tribulations  of  that  period  left  their 
sting  behind,  and  I  must  have  got  into  the  habit 
whenever  I  found  myself  (from  any  cause)  left 
out  in  the  cold,  of  blaming  this  sinister  accident 

187 


1 8  8  Days  of  Discovery 

of  my  birth,  until  I  had  elevated  it  into  a  prime 
misfortune. 

The  "Big  Ones"  and  the  "Little  Ones" 
each  contrived  somehow  to  fall  into  a  distinct 
group,  and  if  there  were  any  good  things  going 
they  were  pretty  sure,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  to  get 
hold  of  them  between  them.  The  whole  family 
was  much  too  large  a  unit  for  most  purposes.  It 
must  be  divided,  but  w^hen  the  division  was 
made  there  was  pretty  sure  to  be  a  bit  left  over 
in  the  middle — and  I  was  the  bit.  To  the  Christ- 
mas parties  where  one  played  Blind-Man's-Buff 
and  where  there  was  a  conjurer  or  private 
theatricals,  went  the  Big  Ones.  To  the  Christmas 
parties  where  one  played  Hunt-the-Slipper  and 
where  there  was  a  tree  and  large  supplies  of 
sponge-cake  fingers,  went  the  Little  Ones.  But 
there  appeared  to  be  few  Christmas  parties  that 
fitted  my  case.  The  Big  Ones  to  a  great  extent 
had  their  own  interests  and  occupations,  in  which 
I  was  too  small  and  insignificant  to  take  part. 
The  Little  Ones  resented  my  intrusion  into  their 
own  special  games  and  secret  delights,  knowing 
very  well  that  I  would  consider  them  altogether 
too  silly  for  one  of  my  years.  In  the  first  case  my 
role  was  that  of  a  panting  hanger-on,  who  could 


About  Being  in  the  Middle  189 

never  quite  keep  up  and  who  ran  much  risk  of 
being  sent  about  his  business :  in  the  second  that 
of  a  superior  critic,  always  ready  to  tender  advice 
which  was  not  wanted,  and  usually  much  better 
out  of  the  way.  Of  course  even  in  that  dark 
winter  I  had  my  days — great  days  when  I  was 
smiled  on  by  my  superiors  in  return  for  some 
brilliant  suggestion  that  they  had  seen  fit  to 
adopt,  when  I  myself  became  to  all  intents  and 
purposes  a  Big  One,  tasting  rare  joys  of  supremacy. 
There  were  also  days  when,  descending  to  the 
lower  scale,  I  was  adopted  for  the  time  being  as 
leader  and  chief  of  the  Little  Ones.  But  for  the 
most  part  I  was  out  of  it.  And  the  worst  of  it 
was  that  a  sort  of  alliance  between  Big  and  Little 
was  not  altogether  unknown.  There  were  times 
when  the  two  groups  were  on  the  friendliest 
terms,  one  simply  exuding  admiration,  the  other 
showing  a  beautiful  and  most  self-conscious  con- 
descension. They  were  so  far  apart  as  to  be 
mutually  attractive  to  each  other,  but  I  was 
much  too  like  them  both.  Had  the  programme 
of  our  upbringing  been  quite  consistent  and  every 
one  of  us  passed  in  a  steady  rotation  through  each 
successive  phase  it  would  not  have  been  so  bad. 
But  new  ideas  were  sometimes  adopted,  generally 


1 90  Days  of  Discovery 

after  I  had  passed  the  stage  to  which  they  applied. 
The  Big  Ones  were  of  course  continually  reaching 
a  new  stage  of  some  sort — a  later  bed-time,  an 
extension  of  bounds,  a  private  sponge,  school- 
room tea.  These  privileges  also  fell  to  me  in 
due  course,  but  somehow  they  had  grown  a  little 
stale  by  then.  I  should  have  had  no  cause  of 
complaint  had  those  below  me  followed  strictly 
on  the  same  lines.  But  variations  would  be 
adopted.  The  statutory  bed-time  was  put  back 
half  an  hour,  for  instance,  the  statutory  pocket- 
money  was  advanced,  an  entirely  new  departure 
was  made  in  the  important  matter  of  the  cake 
supply  for  nursery  tea — after  I  had  been  drafted 
to  the  schoolroom.  There  was  no  real  injustice 
in  these  things.  They  were  in  themselves  valu- 
able amendments.  But  while  the  Big  Ones  were 
already  too  far  on  to  take  much  interest  in  them, 
I  knew  well  that  I  had  only  just  missed  them. 
It  was  not  fair  ! 

Often  would  I  brood  upon  the  things  that 
were  not  fair,  and  more  and  more  I  came  to 
attribute  them  to  my  intermediate  position. 
On  one  such  occasion,  when  two  separate  parties 
had  left  me  alone  and  desolate  in  the  nursery,  I 
made  a  startling  discovery,  which  emphatically 


About  Being  in  the  Middle  191 

was  not  fair.  I  was  the  only  one,  if  you  came  to 
think  of  it,  who  never  had  any  new  clothes.  My 
little  sister  had  in  that  particular  the  immense 
weapon  of  her  sex  to  defend  her.  But  my  small 
brother  was  coming  off  nearly  as  well.  For  most 
of  my  garments  descended,  in  a  more  or  less  im- 
paired condition,  from  those  above  and  the  trouble 
was  that  by  the  time  I  had  done  with  them  they 
were  of  no  use  whatever  to  anyone  else.  I  even 
went  so  far  that  night  as  to  plan  a  special  method 
by  which  I  might  bring  home  to  Archie  the  fact 
that  whoever  had  claim  to  new  clothes  he  had 
none.  I  would  start  taking  such  scrupulous  care 
of  my  garments  that  when  I  had  grown  out  of 
them  they  would  still  be  fit  for  active  service. 
Then  he  would  have  to  wear  them.  That  plan, 
like  most  of  the  others  that  I  conceived  to 
mitigate  my  unfortunate  position,  came  to 
naught.  There  was  no  cure  for  it  till  the  coming 
of  the  old  gentleman.  And  that  was  a  most 
extraordinary  and  epoch-making  event. 

The  old  gentleman  was  absolutely  right  in 
every  way.  I  looked  back  upon  him  afterwards 
as  one  decorated  with  a  halo  of  perfection.  He 
was  the  only  Grown-up  I  had  ever  known  in 
whom  I  could  not  suggest  improvement.  He  came 


192  Days  of  Discovery 

from  Australia  and  he  had  a  unique  faculty  for 
understanding  things.  He  only  came  once,  and 
after  he  had  finished  his  visit  to  the  drawing- 
room,  instead  of  going  quietly  out  of  the  house,  as 
did  other  visitors,  he  dashed  upstairs,  three  steps 
at  a  time,  and  opened  the  door  of  the  nursery. 
He  must  have  found  it  by  instinct,  as  he  had  no 
one  to  guide  him.  But  he  v^as  quite  equal  to 
that.  In  he  came,  sat  down  on  the  sofa  and 
joined  at  once  in  the  conversation  in  the  most 
natural  way.  At  the  end  of  three-quarters  of  an 
hour  we  had  practically  accepted  him  as  one  of 
ourselves,  and  were  even  making  use  of  him  (for 
he  was  very  tall)  to  lift  down  sundry  of  our 
belongings  which,  having  been  used  as  missiles 
in  the  course  of  a  bombardment  of  Alexandria, 
had  lodged  on  the  top  of  the  high  cupboard  out 
of  reach.  But  the  astounding  thing  happened 
at  the  moment  of  his  departure — for  he  was 
sorry  he  could  not  stay  to  tea. 

"  Which  is  the  middle  one  ?  "  he  demanded 
suddenly,  as  he  took  his  hat.  And  when  I  had 
claimed  that  position,  "  Will  you  come  and  see 
me  off  at  the  station  ?  " 

We  crept  noiselessly  past  the  drawing-room, 
he  with  his  finger  on  his  lip  (oh,  he  knew  all 


About  Being  in  the  Middle  193 

about  it  !)  ;  and  he  did  not  help  me  on  with  my 
coat  and  pat  my  cap  about  and  wonder  if  I 
ought  to  have  a  muffler,  as  others  were  wont  to 
do.  On  the  way  to  the  station  he  discoursed  at 
length  upon  this  one  engrossing  subject  of  being 
in  the  middle.  He  understood.  He  revealed 
the  cheering  fact  that  he  had  been  in  the  middle 
himself — and  look  how  well  he  had  turned  out  ! 
And  had  he  had  no  fun  ? — not  a  bit.  He  was 
only  the  middle  of  three,  which  was  not,  of  course, 
such  an  extreme  case  as  mine.  But  his  elder 
brother  had  got  the  estate,  and  his  younger  sister 
had  married  a  baronet,  and  he  was  simply  packed 
off  to  a  place  called  the  Antipodes.  So  you  see  ! 
But  he  went  on  to  show  that  he  had  really  had 
the  best  of  it  in  the  long  run.  Middle  Ones 
always  do.  I  was  to  buck  up,  he  said,  and 
always  remember  that  it  was  a  general  rule  in 
famihes  that  the  best  stuff  was  found  in  the 
middle.  "  I  know  all  about  it,"  he  concluded, 
"  the  Big  Uns  put  on  too  much  side,  don't 
they  ?  And  the  Little  Uns  are  so  abominably 
spoiled,  eh  ?  " 

And  when  he  left  me  at  the  station  he  be- 
stowed upon  me  a  tip  of  such  staggering  dimen- 
sions (gold  !)  that  I  went  home  in  a  car  for  fear 

N 


194  Days  of  Discovery 

of  being  robbed,  and  did  not  dare  to  show  myself 
in  the  nursery  till  I  had  discounted  the  extremes 
of  jealousy  beforehand  by  laying  out  a  liberal 
part  of  it  on  chocolate-cream  for  the  public 
good. 


XXVII 

SECRET  HJBITJTIONS 

The  prehistoric  man  within  us  dies  slowly.  With 
some  of  us  he  is  never  wholly  dead,  but  still  may 
make  his  pleading  heard,  calling  us  back  to  the 
time  when  the  instincts  of  the  savage  played  no 
small  part  in  guiding  our  activities.  Or  whence 
comes  this  overmastering  desire,  that  is  known 
to  every  small  boy,  for  a  hidden  house  or  home, 
a  camp  or  habitation  that  shall  be  all  his  own  ? 
A  little  girl's  idea  of  "  playing  house  "  is  some- 
thing far  different.  It  is  wholly  conventional, 
and  consists  of  an  elaborate  imitation  in  every 
detail,  as  far  as  may  be,  of  the  genuine  thing  as 
she  knows  it.  She  must  mark  off  the  rooms  with 
stones  laid  down  in  a  laborious  outline.  She 
must  put  in  the  bed  (draped  in  a  folded  handker- 
chief), the  table  (of  an  upturned  box),  and  chairs 
and  sofas,  each  in  its  allotted  place.  She  will 
have  the  dishes  ranged  upon  the  dresser,  poker 
and  tongs  displayed  upon  the  hearth,  a  basin  on 

195 


1 96  Days  of  Discovery 

the  wash-stand,  and  a  pillow  on  the  bed.  She  is 
satisfied  with  the  most  feeble  and  inadequate 
means  to  these  ends  so  long  as  she  need  not 
abandon  them.  Better  a  piece  of  broken  slate 
to  represent  the  hearthrug  than  have  no  hearth- 
rug on  the  floor.  The  whole  amounts  to  a 
slavish  but  most  barbarous  copy  of  her  home. 
It  is  all  very  pretty,  and  she  will  spend  priceless 
hours  in  these  surroundings,  setting  the  table 
with  her  little  scraps  of  china,  dusting  her  un- 
responsive rooms  or  shaking  out  a  hearthrug  that 
is  hopelessly  inflexible.  And  she  generally  has  a 
keen  desire  to  display  her  ingenuity  and  will 
gladly  ask  you  to  take  a  hand  in  the  game. 

The  boy  also  has  his  houses,  but  they  are  secret 
and  remote,  and,  far  from  being  like  his  home, 
they  must  present,  if  possible,  abnormal  and 
eccentric  features.  He  revels  in  a  house  on 
wheels,  a  house  underground  or  on  the  water,  a 
house  of  snow  or  a  house  of  branches,  a  house  in 
the  face  of  a  cliff  or  a  house  in  a  tree — anything, 
indeed,  but  a  house  of  stone  built  four-square 
upon  the  ground,  though  even  that  might  be 
permissible  if  it  could  only  be  approached  by 
crawling  tortuously.  For  it  is  a  point  of  no 
small  importance  that  it  should  be  difficult — if 


Secret  Habitations  197 

possible,  dangerous — to  come  at,  and  bereft  of 
any  sort  of  common  comfort  in  its  mysterious 
inside. 

I  see  now  the  reason  of  the  failure  of  our  cabin- 
in-the-woods,  though  at  the  time  I  could  not 
understand  it.  It  was  because  some  of  these 
prime  conditions  had  been  ruthlessly  trans- 
gressed. Archie,  who  had  strong  architectural 
leanings,  conceived  the  notion  of  building  it, 
and  Authority  smiled  upon  the  undertaking.  At 
first  one  looked  upon  it  with  that  robust  contempt 
which  belonged  to  the  enterprises  of  a  younger 
brother.  But  ere  long  one  was  induced  to  lend  a 
hand.  And  really  he  put  it  up  with  no  little 
skill,  and,  working  manfully  for  most  of  the  day- 
light hours  of  a  long  holiday,  completed,  tarred 
and  locked  it  with  a  key.  It  was  a  neat,  small 
structure  of  rough  planks,  finely  weatherproof, 
fitted  with  a  table,  a  cupboard,  and  a  bed,  and 
pleasantly  situated  among  the  gorse  bushes  in 
the  corner  of  the  Field  Below.  It  was  indeed  all 
that  a  house  should  be — and  that  was  where  it 
failed.  I  am  convinced  that  had  it  had  some 
outrageous  feature,  had  it  been  set  on  piles  in  a 
swamp,  or  even  had  it  been  less  painfully  sound 
and  capable  all  would  have  been  well.    But  as  it 


198  Days  of  Discovery 

was  we  had  no  heart  in  it.  It  languished  from  the 
first,  and  ere  a  couple  of  years  had  passed  it  was 
made  over  (as  a  hen-house)  to  Tom  Coachman, 
who  tore  it  up  and  bore  it  home  to  his  back 
garden,  where  it  may  still  be  seen,  filling  a  useful, 
if  degraded,  office. 

When  first  the  rage  for  house-hunting  set  in, 
any  sort  of  cavity  or  burrow  would  serve  the 
purpose.  We  rejoiced  in  many  queer  retreats 
where  we  found  splendid  isolation.  There  were 
camps  among  the  rhododendrons  in  the  shrubbery. 
(A  "  camp  "  was  a  sort  of  lair,  shut  in  by  dense 
branches  and  arched  over  by  trees,  where  one 
could  peer  out  and  catch  a  glimpse  of  passers-by 
— all  unseen  and  unsuspected.)  There  was  the 
stokehole  beside  the  melon-house,  a  retreat  of  most 
grateful  memory,  where  you  would  shut  down 
the  lid  above  your  head  and  lie  upon  heaped 
coke  before  the  glowing  fire,  and  the  footsteps 
of  your  hereditary  enemies — Callers — might  even 
pass — it  has  happened — over  your  crouching  head 
and  they  be  none  the  wiser.  There  was  a  glorious 
little  den  in  the  quarry  on  The  Green-Hill- Far- 
Away. 

I  have  lost  all  zest  for  these  pursuits.  Camps 
and  stokeholes  are  naught  to  me  now,  but  I  still 


Secret  Habitations  199 

look  back  with  lively  interest  and  regret  upon 
our  house  in  the  old  holm-oak.  That  was  by  far 
our  happiest  inspiration.  The  others  had  their 
day  and  were  deserted  one  by  one,  but  the  tree- 
house  met  a  tragic  end  while  it  still  stood  high 
in  our  affections.  Had  it  not  been  for  a  miser- 
able scheme  that  was  set  on  foot  for  enlarging 
the  tennis  lawn  it  might  well  have  lasted  out  our 
time.  For  the  old  holm-oak  with  its  precious 
burden  had  to  go. 

The  house  was  poised  at  a  height  where  no 
Grown-up  would  ever  dare  to  climb,  and  so 
slender  were  the  branches  among  which  it  rested 
that  it  swung  with  thrilling  motion  in  the  wind. 
But  it  was  firmly  fixed  with  stout  ropes  and  stays 
to  every  available  limb,  and  built  into  its  position 
like  a  nest.  The  floor  was  made  of  an  old  door 
discarded  from  a  former  potting-shed,  and  when 
once  it  had  been  placed — a  risky  and  laborious 
process — the  superstructure  was  soon  nailed  on. 
Walls  and  roof  were  made  of  a  variety  of  collected 
materials — canvas,  felt  and  carpet — and  the  whole 
front  was  in  the  form  of  a  flap  which  folded  up. 
All  things  are  a  matter  of  proportion,  and  it  is 
probable  that  its  dizzy  altitude  was  not  more 
than  thirty  feet  from  the  ground.     But  it  was 


200  Days  of  Discovery 

almost     completely     hidden     by      surrounding 
leaves. 

And  if  I  am  asked  what  we  did  in  the  many 
hours  we  spent  in  it,  I  find  myself  completely  at 
a  loss.  I  fancy  that  to  be  in  it  at  all  was  in  it- 
self a  sufficient  occupation.  There  were  books 
carried  up  to  it  that  we  never  opened,  pencils 
and  paint-boxes  that  were  never  used.  Curiously, 
one  generally  went  up  alone,  or  if  there  was  more 
than  one  conversation  often  languished.  One 
really  had  no  time  to  spare  for  that.  To  be  there, 
swaying  gently  with  the  branches,  looking  out 
upon  a  bewildering  world  of  green,  watching 
the  birds  that  came  and  went,  or  peering  down 
at  the  little  patchwork  scraps  of  the  garden,  of 
flower-beds,  gravel,  or  smooth-shaven  lawn  that 
were  picked  out  by  the  sun  between  the  leaves ; 
it  was  enough.  Best  of  all  to  be  there  in  a  heavy 
shower  of  rain,  in  the  very  heart  of  the  pattering 
musketry  of  the  myriad  drops.  I  know  the 
charm  and  fascination  of  it  all  had  taken  so  com- 
plete possession  of  me  that  I  would  rise  day  after 
day  at  six  in  the  morning  that  I  might  have  two 
extra  hours  before  others  were  awake  to  sit  and 
dream  far  up  among  the  branches. 

We  never  built  another  house  when  the  old 


Secret  Habitat io ft s  201 

tree  had  to  go  ;  soon,  indeed,  we  had  arrived  at 
an  age  when  tree-houses  are  of  no  more  avail. 
But  I  doubt  if  in  any  of  the  many  camping, 
caravanning,  sleeping-out  enterprises  of  my  later 
life  I  have  ever  quite  caught  again  that  which 
was  lost  on  that  most  fateful  day.  I  still  dream  of 
a  house  in  a  tree  that  I  shall  build  myself  some 
day,  deep  in  a  forest  and  poised  above  a  stream, 
and  of  hours  that  I  shall  spend  there  in  the 
Spring,  alone,  well  pleased  with  this  old  occupa- 
tion of  doing  nothing  with  a  pure  content. 


XXVIII 

SCORING  OFF 

It  was  at  one  time  a  favourite  matter  of  discussion 
in  the  nursery  whether  it  was  correct  to  say  "  I 
scored  him  off,"  or  "  I  scored  off  him.."  There 
was  a  strong  party  in  favour  of  the  former  on 
the  ground  of  emphasis,  while  the  latter  was  sup- 
ported by  the  more  pedantic,  who  had  begun  to 
take  an  interest  in  grammar.  Fortunately  the 
point  did  not  often  arise,  for  there  could  be  no 
question  about  the  construction  of  the  phrase 
in  its  most  common  form  when  it  was  used  as  a 
signal  of  victory  and  a  paean  of  triumph  in  the 
exultant  shout  of  "  Scored  oif  !  " 

This  was  one  of  the  leading  practices  of  those 
distant  days,  for  there  was  simply  no  end  to  the 
methods  in  which  one  might  be  scored  off.  It 
was  less  a  state  of  continuous  warfare,  than  a 
game  of  give-and-take,  a  matter  of  reprisals,  of 
the  balancing  of  accounts,  of  knowing  oneself  to 
be  *'  one  up."    It  did  not  entail  much  ill-feeling, 

ao3 


Scoring  Of  203 


and  I  am  sure  that  the  distress  of  the  Scored-off 
was  never  by  any  means  commensurate  with  the 
deep  joy  of  the  Scorer.  But  you  were  bound  to 
take  a  hand  in  the  game  if  you  would  not  lose 
your  position  among  your  fellows  and  sink  into 
insignificance  and  contempt.  For  to  be  scored 
off — as  was  Cousin  Herbert — without  resentment 
and  without  any  attempt  to  retaliate  was  to 
stamp  yourself  as  no  sportsman.  It  was  exactly 
equivalent  to  the  miserable  practice  of  giving  up 
a  game  before  it  was  finished  because  you  were 
losing  ;  and  even  Those  in  Authority,  perceiving 
its  iniquity,  had  made  a  special  regulation  against 
that.  And  the  beauty  of  it  was  that  this  charming 
practice  permeated  every  department  of  our  lives. 
For  if  Archie  by  bagging  the  common  hair- 
brush and  thereafter  chucking  it  behind  the  chest 
of  drawers  was  able  to  get  down  in  the  morning 
in  time  for  prayers,  while  you  were  late  and  were 
reprimanded  therefor,  it  was  a  score-off — though 
rather  a  poor  one.  If  he  got  the  top  of  the  cream 
for  his  porridge  by  reaching  the  breakfast  table 
first  it  was  a  solid  and  substantial  score-off  for 
you.  If  you  could  make  him  late  for  school  by 
hiding  his  boots  you  felt,  of  course,  that  you 
had  got  level  and  could  start  again  on  even  terms. 


204  Days  of  Discovery 

These  examples  belong  to  the  simplest  and  most 
straightforward  type,  along  with  the  Apple  Pie 
Bed  and  the  Booby  Trap.  Working  on  the  same 
lines,  one  would  secrete  unpleasant  substances  in 
the  victim's  pocket  or  remove  his  chair  when  he 
was  on  the  point  of  sitting  down.  These  were  all 
useful  in  their  way,  but  none  of  them  could  be 
regarded  as  first-class.  A  really  powerful  score- 
off,  and  one  which  brought  with  it  a  full  sense 
of  satisfaction,  must  be  more  subtle.  It  must  be 
a  triumph  of  wit.  This  came  chiefly  into  opera- 
tion in  the  successful  prognostication  of  events, 
the  discovery  of  secrets  or  the  vindication  of 
an  opinion.  For  there  was  nothing  in  which  one 
showed  more  vigour  and  tenacity  than  in  forming 
an  opinion  and  sticking  to  it.  If  I  had  once  said 
that  Aunt  Mary  was  coming  to  tea  on  Friday  it 
was  useless  trying  to  argue  me  out  of  the  state- 
ment or  to  convince  me  that  Thursday  was  the 
day.  There  was  probably  much  violent  conten- 
tion as  to  who  was  in  the  right,  but  all  attempt 
at  persuasion  was  wholly  barren.  And  when  at 
last  the  old  lady  turned  up  on  Wednesday  it  only 
remained  to  decide  which  of  the  two  competitors 
could  consider  himself  the  more  completely 
scored  off. 


Scoring  Off'  205 


To  have  discovered  some  new  and  startling 
fact  was  in  itself  an  open  challenge  which  would 
be  taken  up,  often  against  great  odds,  almost 
automatically.  If  I  (having  perceived  among  the 
parcels  on  the  hall  table  one  of  peculiar  shape 
and  skilfully  put  two  and  two  together)  had  sur- 
mised and  announced  that  Archie  was  going  to 
get  a  cricket-bat  for  a  birthday  present  on  the 
morrow,  some  one  would  be  quite  certain  to 
deny  it  without  going  through  the  formality  of 
asking  the  grounds  of  my  conclusion.  The  debate 
would  begin  with  an  unprofitable  interchange  on 
the  basis  of  "  He  is  "  and  "  He  isn't,"  but  before 
long  a  diversion  would  be  caused  by  some  one 
suggesting  an  alternative,  say  a  pair  of  stilts  (then 
much  in  vogue).  After  that  there  was  not  much 
more  to  be  said,  though  that  did  not  prevent  us 
from  saying  much  ;  it  only  remained  to  be  seen 
which  of  us  was  scored  off.  But  when  the  time 
came  our  sympathetic  interest  in  Archie's  acquisi- 
tion would  be  quite  submerged  in  our  eagerness 
to  learn  the  result  of  the  dispute. 

But  the  most  tremendous  and  effective  triumphs 
were  those  in  which  an  important  piece  of  in- 
formation was  being  hoarded  up  and  used  as  a 
weapon  by  its  possessor,  and  was  discovered  by  a 


2o6  Days  of  Discovery 

competitor  and  published  in  spite  of  him.  After 
persuasion,  pressure,  threats  had  all  failed,  and 
he  still  refused  to  tell  the  name  of  the  new 
governess  (which  he  had  overheard),  the  formula 
was  "  I  don't  care  "  (which  was  palpably  untrue), 
"  ril  find  out  in  spite  of  you  !  "  And  if  one  did 
find  out  and  made  public  proclamation  of  the 
intelligence  at  nursery  tea,  with  what  splendid 
force  did  one  drive  home  one's  victory  in  the 
brief  and  withering  peroration  "  Scored  off  !  " 

And  that  reminds  me  that  the  most  elaborate 
and  overwhelming  score-oif  was  perpetrated  by 
the  new  governess,  who  rose  by  reason  of  it  to 
staggering  heights  in  our  estimation.  For  we 
recognized  that  this  was  a  level  of  the  art  far 
beyond  our  own  clumsy  efforts,  to  be  kept  before 
us  for  weeks  to  come  as  a  glowing  example.  She 
had  told  Sidney  and  Colin  (who  were  to  be  her 
pupils)  that  the  following  morning  they  would 
come  into  the  schoolroom  between  one  and  two^ 
without  knowing  it*  It  was  an  evening  of  great 
excitement.  Was  it  true  ?  If  so,  how  could  she 
bring  it  about  ?  Was  it  thought-reading  or 
somnambulism  ?  Or  a  horrid  thing  called  Hypno- 
tism that  Colin  said  he  had  heard  about  ?   .  .  . 

Nothing    remarkable    happened    during    the 


Scoring  Off"  207 


night,  when  we  all  slept  as  usual.  But  that 
proved  nothing.  For  they  were  to  do  it  **  with- 
out knowing  it."  At  9  a.m.  Miss  Gardener  arrived 
and  found  us  waiting  in  force  in  the  schoolroom 
to  demand  an  explanation.  She  took  us  to  the 
door  and  pointed  out  where  she  had  written  the 
figure  I  upon  one  side  of  it  and  2  upon  the  other. 
It  dawned  upon  us.  Sidney  and  Colin,  without 
knowing  it,  had  come  in  between  one  and  two ! 
And  that  was  a  score-oif  ! 


XXIX 

A  STRANGE  TONGUE 

The  new  language  was  much  the  most  sweeping 
and  adventurous  of  our  many  literary  experi- 
ments. Long  before  that  we  had  dealt  largely 
in  codes  and  secret  cyphers.  There  was  that 
system  of  hieroglyphics  which  was  employed  for 
sending  messages  by  string  and  pulley  from  second 
storey  windows  to  the  garden  below.  It  was 
altogether  successful  in  its  main  object — that  is 
to  say,  it  must  have  baffled  the  investigations  of 
the  enemy,  had  any  of  the  messages  fallen  into 
his  hands.  (The  fact  that  they  never  did,  and 
that  indeed  there  was  no  enemy  need  not  detain 
us.)  But  it  also  had  an  annoying  faculty  for 
baffling  the  painful  researches  of  the  receiving 
correspondent  himself.  At  least  he  must  take 
his  message  away  to  the  summer-house,  get  out 
his  key  and  put  his  whole  mind  into  it  if  he  would 
succeed  in  making  it  out.     Every  letter  of  the 

208 


A  Strange  Tongue  209 

alphabet  had  a  sign  of  its  own.  The  thing  was 
built  up  by  a  daring  combination  of  the  face  of  a 
clock  with  sundry  diagrams  out  of  the  first  book 
of  Euclid,  which — not  having  as  yet  been  in- 
cluded in  the  dreary  category  of  "  lessons  " — 
appealed  to  us  directly  by  their  native  charm. 
But  we  were  always  in  difficulties.  The  drafts- 
manship was  defective  :  the  number  of  segments 
of  the  clock  which  could  be  mutually  distinguished 
was  not  very  great,  and  one  triangle,  unless  it  be 
most  carefully  transcribed,  is  pretty  like  another. 
Messages  became  more  and  more  terse  and  laconic 
and  the  time  came  when  it  was  not  considered 
quite  sporting  to  send  more  than  a  single  word. 
The  difficulty  of  expressing  oneself  adequately 
in  a  single  word  again  called  forth  an  extensive 
code,  in  which  one  syllable  represented  a  whole 
sentence.  After  that  we  were  fairly  happy  for 
a  time — though  there  was  necessarily  some  mono- 
tony in  our  communications.  But  when  some 
one  pointed  out  that  there  was  now  no  need 
for  the  cypher,  as  the  code  word  itself  conveyed 
a  hidden  meaning,  we  felt  that  the  whole  system 
had  broken  down  under  the  weight  of  its  own 
complexity  and  instantly  abandoned  it.     Indeed 


2IO  Days  of  Discovery 

there  was  a  very  strong  revulsion  of  feeling.  The 
very  suggestion  of  a  secret  code  v^as  regarded 
with  contempt.  And  when  Archie  was  found,  a 
whole  week  later,  trying  to  concoct  a  new  one 
he  was  very  promptly  suppressed.  One  certainly 
had,  in  those  old  days,  the  faculty  for  breaking 
off  short  and  starting  again.  There  were  no  loose 
ends  and  things  did  not  drag  on  out  of  their  due 
season.  When  we  had  done  with  a  thing,  we  had 
done  with  it.  We  were  not  given  to  raking  up 
the  past. 

Then,  of  course,  we  published  a  newspaper.  It 
began  as  a  Daily,  but  the  trouble  about  a  daily 
newspaper,  as  we  soon  found,  is  simply  that  it 
appears  every  day.  So  we  altered  that.  It  then 
had  a  brief  and  rather  distinguished  career  as  a 
Weekly,  until,  under  pressure  of  an  active  period 
of  frost  and  snow — when  our  energies  were  fully 
occupied — it  hastily  announced  its  intention  of 
coming  out  in  future  on  the  first  of  every 
month.  We  had  hoped  to  keep  it  on  its  legs  for 
a  time  as  a  Quarterly,  but  it  was  not  long  before 
we  were  referring  to  it  as  the  "  Annual."  Even 
then  we  were  hampered  by  a  sense  of  that 
terrible  and  machine-like  regularity  which  at- 
taches to  a  periodical ;    and  the  last  number  of 


A  Strange  Tongue  2 1 1 

all  bore  the  inscription  *'  Published  whenever  the 
Editor  feels  incHned  " — a  state  of  affairs  which 
never  again  occurred. 

The  death  of  the  paper  was  hastened  by  the 
fact  that  by  that  time  we  were  all  becoming  en- 
grossed in  authorship,  as  opposed  to  journalism. 
But  a  greater  project  awaited  us.  So  far  we  had 
merely  been  aping  the  achievements  of  other 
men.  Anyone  could  publish  a  rotten  newspaper 
or  write  a  silly  book,  or  make  up  a  beastly  code, 
we  told  each  other.  We  felt  the  need  of  a  new 
field  that  belonged  to  us  alone.  This  whole 
question  of  language  and  intercommunication 
was,  if  you  came  to  think  of  it,  horribly  stale. 
Why  should  we  be  condemned  to  converse  in 
the  same  terms  as  Grown-up  People  ?  Could  we 
not  among  ourselves  find  a  better  way,  which 
should  shut  us  off  from  the  generality  of  man- 
kind ?  The  idea  was  comforting  in  itself  and  also 
it  pointed  to  possible  distinction.  Already  we 
could  hear  outsiders  in  tramcars  remarking  to 
one  another  when  we  entered,  "  Oh,  yes,  those 
are  the  children  that  don't  talk  EngHsh."  The 
only  question  was — how  was  it  to  be  done  ?  A 
day  was  set  apart,  as  an  experiment,  on  which 
we  would  communicate  only  by  signs.    That  was 


2 1 2  Days  of  Discovery 

a  strange,  sad,  unsatisfactory  day.  It  was  as  if  a 
shadow  had  descended  upon  us,  and  it  was  small 
comfort  to  be  told  in  the  evening  by  Those  in 
Authority  that  it  had  been  quite  a  pleasure  to 
have  us  about  the  house  and  that  it  was  a  long 
time  since  we  had  been  so  good.  And  the  system 
broke  down  hopelessly.  Archie  lost  his  temper 
altogether  when  his  efforts  to  communicate  the 
fact  that  he  had  seen  tadpoles  in  the  pit  were 
construed  by  me  into  a  request  for  the  loan  of 
my  knife.  So  that  was  no  good.  Very  well, 
only  one  course  remained.  We  must  make  a 
new  language. 

We  held  a  very  serious  and  immensely  important 
meeting  on  the  question  in  the  stable  loft.  We 
agreed  that  we  had  been  forced  into  it,  that  there 
was  no  other  way.  We  admitted  that  at  first 
sight  it  appeared  a  big  undertaking — we  did  not 
wish  to  underrate  it.  We  were  prepared  for  the 
necessary  sacrifices  of  time  and  thought  and 
energy  ;  and  we  had  no  doubt  whatever  that  we 
could  carry  it  through.  We  should  get  pretty 
sick  of  it  perhaps,  still  there  must  be  no  slackness, 
until  the  work  was  completed.  We  estimated, 
not  without  awe,  that  it  would  take  up  nine  half- 
holidays. 


A  Strange  Tongue  213 

That  afternoon  we  converted  the  stable  loft 
into  an  office,  provided  one  pencil  each,  and  pen 
and  ink  for  the  fair  copy,  a  large  roll  of  drav^^er 
paper  for  rough  manuscript,  and  a  penny  exercise 
book  for  the  completed  dictionary.  And  so  we 
set  to  work.  Every  word  was  to  have  a  new 
formation  :  it  was  to  be  a  word  that  had  not  been 
used  before  :  there  were  to  be  no  tenses,  con- 
jugations, numbers,  genders,  nor  any  parts  of 
speech.  It  was  a  perfectly  straightforward  pro- 
position. We  were  simply  to  enter  up  all  the 
words  that  we  were  ever  likely  to  use  which  began 
with  A,  find  equivalents  for  them,  and  then  on 
to  B,  and  so  on. 

It  went  swimmingly  the  first  day.  Down  they 
went — Apple,  Animal,  Airgun  and  Aberdeen. 
We  thought  of  no  less  than  twenty-seven,  and 
being  then  satisfied  that  we  had  exhausted  the 
subject,  we  took  it  in  turns  to  allot  new  words  to 
them.  It  was  wonderful  to  observe  how  quickly 
we  got  on — BiM,  Spick,  Sprot.  ..."  You  must 
remember  that  it  will  take  you  fellows  some  time 
to  learn  this  language,"  remarked  the  scribe,  as 
he  closed  the  book  for  the  day.  "  But  at  any 
rate  we've  finished  A." 

The  real  trouble  was  that  there  were  omissions. 


214  Days  of  Discovery 

At  the  second  meeting,  which  should  have  been 
devoted  to  B,  it  was  pointed  out  that  we  had  so 
far  no  verbs,  and  we  had  to  go  back  upon  the  old 
ground,  which  was  disappointing.  However,  we 
made  some  headway.  At  the  third  sitting  the 
list  for  both  the  first  letters  of  the  alphabet  was 
found  to  be  terribly  defective  and,  after  a  very 
lively  session,  we  began  to  lighten  the  ship. 
"  We'll  have  to  chuck  out  adjectives,"  said  the 
scribe.  "  We  can  easily  get  on  without  adjectives." 
Archie  developed  a  perverse  ingenuity  in  thinking 
up  words  that  had  been  forgotten,  even  then. 
We  had  to  be  continually  harking  back.  The 
meetings  became  disorderly,  and  the  attendance 
fell  off.  But  it  was  not  so  much  the  magnitude 
of  the  task  that  killed  the  language,  it  was  the 
sheer  lack  of  new  words  of  which  to  build  it  up. 
Before  we  had  come  to  the  end  of  C,  it  was  quite 
impossible  to  invent  one  that  had  not  done 
service  before,  without  running  to  four  or  five 
syllables.  We  would  sit  round,  furiously  racking 
unresponsive  brains.  That  wretched  English 
language  seemed  to  have  bagged  them  all.  Then 
it  came  to  light  that  we  had  already  used  the 
same  word — Pape,  I  think  it  was — for  Autumn, 
Book,  and  Baby,  and  when  Sidney,  the  scribe, 


A  Strange  Tongue  215 

heroic  to  the  last,  decided  to  distinguish  them  by 
accents,  the  whole  enterprise  came  down  with  a 
crash. 

That  was  the  end  of  it,  and  we  were  never 
given  to  raking  up  the  past. 


XXX 

WHAT  TO  BE 

We  were  not  allowed  to  talk  in  bed.  And  really, 
on  looking  back,  it  is  very  difficult  at  first  to  im- 
agine when  we  did  find  time  for  any  conversation, 
in  the  era  of  perpetual  motion.  Every  day  was 
a  sort  of  headlong  scramble,  from  the  moment 
when  one  tumbled — or  was  flung — out  of  bed 
till  the  light  was  taken  away  in  the  evening  and 
we  were  left  to  compose  ourselves  for  sleep. 
Seldom  did  one  sit  still  long  enough  to  talk, 
except  at  meals  when  one  was  otherwise  occupied. 
There  was  always  too  much  to  be  seen  from  the 
top  of  a  tram  or  out  of  a  railway  carriage  window. 
One  was  in  far  too  great  a  hurry  on  the  way  to 
school  and  too  actively  exuberant,  in  the  joy  of 
one's  recovered  freedom,  on  the  way  back.  And 
yet  there  is  no  doubt  that  a  good  deal  of  talking 
was  wedged  in  somewhere.  There  were  moments 
of  reflection  after  all,  contemplative  moods, 
occasions  for  discussion,  argument  and  debate. 

216 


What  to  Be  217 


Perhaps  it  would  be  a  November  evening  in  the 
last  half-hour  before  tea,  when  Old  John  Gardener 
had  heaped  up  a  great  smouldering  fire  of  fallen 
leaves  which  filled  the  whole  garden  with  their 
sweet,  earthy,  choking  smoke,  redolent  of  autumn, 
of  intimate,  domestic  things,  of  the  time  of  year 
for  gathering  in  about  the  hearth.  There  on  an 
upturned  flowerpot  beside  the  glowing  fire  or  in 
a  wheelbarrow  (there  is  no  more  delightful 
lounge  than  a  wheelbarrow)  one  might  be  con- 
tent to  sit  munching  an  apple  and  talk  awhile. 
Or  perhaps  it  would  be  on  a  still  summer  after- 
noon, in  the  dazzHng  sunshine  among  the  tumbled 
hay,  sprawling  with  a  cap  drawn  over  one's  eyes, 
that  one  found  a  fit  occasion  for  debate.  At 
such  times  there  was  one  subject  above  all  that 
gripped  our  attention,  that  ran  on  perennially 
v^th  unflagging  interest,  that  was  never  out  of 
place — What  we  would,  like  to  he. 

Growing  up  was  still  a  remote  contingency. 
We  looked  forward  to  that  strange,  shadowy 
future  state,  like  an  undiscovered  land  beyond 
the  mountains,  not  with  any  eagerness  or  desire 
to  enter  in.  I  think  we  regarded  it  rather  as  a 
necessary  misfortune  and  our  speculations  (as  to 
the  part  that  we  should  play)  chiefly  as  a  means 


2 1 8  Days  of  Discovery 

of  making  the  best  of  it,  when  the  time  should 
come.  Tremendous  vistas  were  opened  up,  but 
the  whole  thing  was  like  a  fairy  tale,  remote  and 
quite  unreal.  One  could  not  definitely  imagine 
oneself  grown-up  any  more  than  one  could  imagine 
oneself  a  horse  or  a  dog.  And  thus  there  was  a 
very  close  affinity  between  the  two  variants  of 
the  discussion.  What  will  you  be  when  you  grow 
up  ?  and  What  would  you  like  to  be  here  and 
now  ? 

We  soon  came  to  a  deadlock  over  the  second 
question,  however,  simply  because,  generally 
speaking,  everyone  wanted  to  be  a  Squirrel  and 
it  was  difficult  to  decide  who  had  bagged  it  first. 
If  anyone  could  really  lay  claim  to  that  idea 
and  succeed  in  reserving  it  for  himself,  it  was 
sometimes  possible  to  take  some  interest  in  other 
less  attractive  roles.  Birds  were  generally  popular, 
and  Archie  (whose  ideas  were  never  nice)  often 
declared,  in  the  teeth  of  opposition,  that  he  would 
like  to  be  a  Rat.  To  do  him  justice  he  had  no 
special  hankering  after  living  the  daily  life  of  the 
rat.  What  he  wanted  was  to  discover,  and  estab- 
lish beyond  dispute,  just  what  you  came  to  when 
you  followed  up  the  little  tunnel  that  ran  into 
the   bank    from   the   hole   beneath   the   pantry 


fV/iat  to  Be  219 


window,  and  whether  it  had  any  connection  with 
the  manhole  in  the  yard.  The  only  person  he 
had  ever  seen  who  used  that  route  was  a  rat. 
My  little  sister  on  one  occasion  struck  a  new  note. 
She  had  been  gazing  dreamily  into  the  heavens 
and  when  the  question  was  put  to  her  she  an- 
nounced, without  a  trace  of  hesitation  or  delay, 
that  she  would  like  to  be  a  cloud.  But  we  were 
not  at  all  sure  about  that.  It  sounded  rather  as 
if  it  might  have  come  out  of  a  book.  Sooner  or 
later  the  thought  of  the  swaying  branches  and 
the  depths  of  greenery,  of  clever,  dainty  patter- 
ings  along  dizzy  tracks  and  wild  leaps  from  tree 
to  tree  would  drive  out  all  other  imaginings. 
And  so  we  got  back  to  the  squirrel.  It  came  to 
this.  If  we  couldn't  be  a  squirrel  we  would  stay 
just  as  we  were. 

On  the  other  question — of  our  future  state 
and  profession — there  was  far  more  diversity  of 
opinion.  I  sometimes  wonder  if  we  ever  for  a 
moment  expected  to  carry  out  the  intentions 
that  we  so  clearly  expressed.  It  is  probable  that 
one  never  anticipated  becoming  a  Plumber  any 
more  seriously  than  one  anticipated  becoming  a 
Squirrel.  It  was  a  pure  exercise  of  the  imagina- 
tion in  either  case.    What  one  wanted  to  do  was 


220  Days  of  Discovery 

to  picture  oneself  playing  a  part  and  living  a  life. 
We  were  immensely  obsessed  with  this  vital 
question.  It  seemed  to  us  of  the  very  first  im- 
portance. If  you  could  not  or  would  not  say 
what  you  meant  to  be,  you  were  wilfully  con- 
cealing an  important  aspect  of  yourself  from  your 
fellows.  If  you  didn't  know  what  you  meant  to  be 
you  were  simply  contemptible.  It  was  almost  as 
bad  as  not  knowing  how  old  you  were.  Thus  when 
a  stranger  was  introduced  to  our  circle — which  of 
course  we  resented — after  the  two  preliminary 
questions  of  his  name  and  age  there  followed  at 
once,  simply  to  complete  the  introduction,  the 
demand  :  "  What  are  you  going  to  be  when  you 
grow  up  ?  "  His  future  treatment  depended  to 
no  small  extent  upon  his  reply  to  that. 

Of  course  we  were  continually  revising  our 
intentions  and  adopting  new  professions.  It 
would  have  been  no  fun  if  we  had  remained  con- 
stant to  an  ideal.  And  there  were  times  when  one 
simply  could  not  make  up  one's  mind.  When  I 
had  finished  with  the  plumber  (having  seen  the 
home,  in  a  back  street,  of  my  friend  Mr.  Pearce 
and  found  it  not  at  all  to  my  taste)  I  was  for 
some  weeks  torn  in  two  between  the  rival  claims 
of  a  couple  of  professions,  or  perhaps  I  should  say 


What  to  Be  221 


callings — both  of  which  struck  me  as  being  hugely 
desirable.  I  was  determined  to  be  either  a  Mis- 
sionary or  a  Smuggler.  My  eldest  brother 
wanted  to  be  a  Lamp-lighter,  for  in  those  days 
there  was  a  poetic  figure  which  flitted  by  every 
evening  about  dusk  with  a  long  twinkHng  pole 
over  his  shoulder.  I  would  have  been  a  lamp- 
lighter myself  I  think  had  there  been  no  other 
in  the  family. 

We  had  strong  leanings  towards  the  rarer  and 
more  unusual  classes  of  labour.  Bill-stickers, 
Sandwich-men,  Hawkers  all  had  their  run  of 
popularity.  I  think  we  rather  prided  ourselves 
on  not  wanting  to  be  Sailors,  because  that  seemed 
to  be  expected  of  us.  There  was  once  an  uncle 
who  had  asked  the  vital  question  and  gone  on 
with  a  disgraceful  levity  to  add  "  A  Sailor,  I 
suppose  ?  Run  away  to  sea,  eh  ?  "  Colin  was 
the  most  consistent.  He  was  going  to  work  a 
magic-lantern  and  nothing  would  shake  him  from 
his  purpose. 

Well  do  I  remember  the  day  when  Sidney,  who 
had  begun  to  go  to  school — real  boarding  school 
— came  home  for  the  holidays  with  an  entirely 
new  answer  to  the  riddle.  We  felt  at  once  that 
it  was  the  beginning  of  the  end.    For  when  on 


222  Days  of  Discovery 

the  first  evening  he  was  asked  the  familiar  ques- 
tion, he  told  us,  in  an  off-hand  manner,  that 
he  was  going  to  be  a  Cotton  Broker  (he  had 
gone  away  only  three  months  before  a  confirmed 
Lion  Tamer)  and  the  announcement  was  most 
coldly  received.  It  was  clear  that  he  had  some- 
how lost  the  proper  atmosphere  of  the  game. 
That  could  hardly  be  a  pure  leap  of  the  imagina- 
tion :  there  was  a  taint  of  deliberate  intention 
about  it.  .  .  .  Was  it  possible  that  he  would 
really  grow  up  to  be  a  Cotton  Broker  ? 
I  have  only  to  add  that  he  did. 


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